


Biting the Bullet

by LovelyPlantPrincess



Category: Sons of Anarchy
Genre: Begins at the end of Season Six, Clay Morrow Lives, EXTREME Canon Divergence, F/M, Fighting, Half-Sack Epps lives, Juice Ortiz lives, M/M, Mentions of Abortion, Mentions of Miscarrying, Mentions of Running Away, Multi, Murder, Opie Winston Lives, shootout
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-14
Updated: 2016-05-14
Packaged: 2018-05-13 21:34:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 19
Words: 38,853
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5717878
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LovelyPlantPrincess/pseuds/LovelyPlantPrincess
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After Gemma is shot in an attempt to protect - or murder - Tara, she learns more about herself that she intended to. With Jax and the MC out for blood, and Nero trying to take her away from the murder, Gemma begins to learn a lot more about rebirth and rebuilding.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Change of Plans

In the long run, Gemma would look back and wonder why the hell she jumped in front of a bullet for the bitch who was trying to take her son and grandson away from her. She’s curse herself to hell and back for letting her live, for allowing Tara the reprieve of another breath on Earth. She’d be angry with _herself_ for changing up the plans.

Or at least, she would if she lived to see the day that she recovered from this bullshit.

She had entered her son and daughter-in-law’s house with one intention - no matter how bloody she came out of it, no matter if she had to die _herself_ , Tara would not be able to remove the boys from Charming. She had went in armed to the teeth - planning to tie the skinny little bitch up to a bed somewhere and torture her for a real long, long, _long_ time before giving in and removing her heart through her ribcage. Gemma had plans - how she was going to cover it up, what story she was going to spin, how she was going to manipulate Jax into think that the love of his life’s death was for the better _good_.

That had all been the original plan. But just so happens that just as she grabbed the little whore by the soft dark hair she’d cut in prison, the doors were kicked down. Gemma didn’t remember much after that - indistinct shouting, something about the ‘ SAMCRO whores’, loud bangs that made her ears ring. What she did remember however, clear as day and bright as the bluest skies, was the gun aimed at her daughter’s chest.

And Tara had stood there. Ready to take the bullet.

Gemma doesn’t remember if she rolled her eyes before she jumped in front of the gun. A part of her need to be badass 24/7/365 hopes that even staring down the barrel of a .38, she still looked and acted like one hell of a woman. Although, Gemma’s pretty sure her expression had been less of ‘are you fucking kidding me’ and more of ‘oh shit’. Either way, she did do something pretty badass.

And she saved a life while she was at it. Something she wasn’t quite used to doing - destruction was her specialty, not salvation.

A dumb realization strikes the hospitalized woman, waiting for the next tormented memory that keeps her trapped in her own grade of hell. Sure, she had saved a life. But she had saved the _wrong_ life. She had risked her life for a woman she planned to kill. And Tara had known what she came to do too - the older woman has vague ache of guilt in the pit of where her heart should be, watching over and over again as the fear and tears filled those young and sprung green eyes.

She swallows that guilt and it hurts her throat. _Damn tubes._

**_*--.--*_ **

Standing there, in the middle of that kitchen, with her mother-in-law’s hatred filling every one of Tara’s pores, the young mother wonders if she’s just seen her babies for the last time. There’s vengeance in Gemma’s eyes. Eyes that scream ‘You will pay’ at the top of their bottomless lungs. Tara wonders if maybe, just maybe, she can still get away.

Besides, all she had to do was get the _fucking_ door open.

But Gemma is fast, even in those godforsaken heels, and blinding pain wraps around Tara’s scalp as her mother yanks backwards, hard. She cries out and stumbles back, still not quite ready to give up. Gemma growls something but it doesn’t register over the loud sound of the front door slamming open. The Queen of SAMCRO’s grip slackens a little and Tara frees herself, trying to get as close to the back door as possible. That had been when the men had rushed the kitchen - must have heard their scuffle, or Tara’s cries of pain. There are five of them, at least - all wearing black ski masks and black clothing from the neck down. Nothing is revealed - not a tattoo, not a mark or anything that Tara will be able to identify them with should the day come that she _gets_ to identify them. There’s one noticeable trait between them all - they all have hatred burning in their eyes, no matter what color.

One gun points to Tara and her eyes widen. Something in her mind registers it as the ringleader’s gun - the gun that belongs to the man directing this operation.

She wills herself to move, but her feet feel like are glued to the floor. She can only see the shooter’s eyes and lips, and those lips pull into a crooked smile as his finger tugs at the trigger.

Another loud bang - she hadn’t originally heard the first due to her heart pounding in her ears, but when she goes back to give her statement, she’ll vaguely recall a few of them while Gemma was manhandling her - and then the sound of a body hitting the floor. Tara closes her eyes, braces for the pain of a gunshot wound, but nothing comes. When she looks down at her feet, Gemma is laying on her back. Her knees are drawn up and her carefully painted nails clutch at a bloody tear in her shirt. Tara falls next to her, brushes back the white and black locks of her mother’s hair.

“Did we get ‘em?” one man asks, his voice heavy and oriental. Tears prick at Tara’s eyes and sitting there, staring at her mother, she’s almost ready for them to take her too. Jax would never forgive her for this one - letting his mother get shot.

Sirens fill the air, and the man that shot Gemma curses loudly in Spanish. Wait, brown working with yellow? Had the Mayans and the Chinese teamed up to wipe out SAMCRO?

“Doesn’t matter! Pigs! We got one of the bitches, and that’s all that matters. _Vamanos_!” Heavy boots pound against Tara’s floor and the front door slams shut. She can hear cursing and the squealing of tires before the sirens are too loud and they’re drumming in her ears. Police are arriving - someone must’ve reported the gunshots, or maybe the strange group of men dressed in all back, trying to break into the Teller household.

“Gemma, what the _fuck_ ?” Tara asks, pressing her hands against the other woman’s stomach. She wants to ask why - when Gemma came to kill her, why would she take a bullet for _her_ ? But the word’s die on her lips - Gemma’s quickly becoming pasty and clammy, her pulse is slowing down. “ _No_ , you old, stubborn bitch. You don’t get to- not when- Jax… _Nero_ , for god’s sake!”

“You leave my boys out of this,” Gemma rasps, drawing her bloody hands away from the wound. On the bed of the death, and the old bitch still manages to terrify the shit out of Tara. She shakes her head, pushes down harder on Gemma’s stomach - hoping desperately just to staunch the wound. Gemma can’t fight the strangled groan of pain that escapes her throat. “Take care of them, yeah, Doc? Nero he ain’t… he just has his boy. No one else. Look after him for me.”

“Gemma you’re _not_ dying. You’re not leaving me alone! I can’t do this!” Tara screams. More footsteps fill the hallways, and the paramedics and police officers enter to find her leaned over her mother-in-law, pleading with her to live.

For once in her life, Tara doesn’t feel like a skilled doctor. She feels like a frail little girl, losing her mother all over again. Despite their differences, Gemma was the only female role model Tara had. She couldn’t die. Tara refused to lose two mother’s in a lifetime.

But all she can do is standby and watch the red blossom over her mother’s jeans and white shirt - the first time she wears white since the day they met and she gets bloody shot - as they lift her and take her to St. Thomas’.

Tara doesn’t bother calling Jax - leaving her phone on the kitchen floor, pooled in her mother’s blood. She just grabs hers and Gemma’s purses and follows the paramedic’s out the door.


	2. Trapped In A Cesspool

Wandering around in the blinding white of what Gemma guesses is supposed to be her mind - although that can’t be true, considering the place should be blanketed with _darkness_ \- she does a lot of thinking. Although, it’s not quite how she’d like to spend the peace of quiet - she’d much prefer some Gin Rickeys, a spliff and her Nero to distract her. However, her mind had none of those beautiful things. Shit’s like being in a desert - there’s neverending white for what feels like acres, stretching out all around her. Not a chair, not a bed, not a goddamned glass of water - although, technically, she’s just a metaphor for her thoughts. So… she doesn’t really _need_ water. Or to sit or to sleep.

Metaphor or not. Despite the vast amount of room, the entire thing makes her feel a little claustrophobic. Stranded. _Trapped_.

Trapped just like she was in Charming. In SAMCRO. With Clay or JT. Shackled down, unable to free herself from her dark cage of lies, secrets and manipulation.

The upside to being in a coma - it _does_ allow her to clear her head. Gemma hasn’t had time to do too much of that since she framed Clay and had him locked away - it’s been a whirlwind of protecting her boys, fucking _and_ helping Nero with Diosa now that Carla was dead. Which, she supposes, is good - not having her head cleared, that is. If she had gotten the time earlier, she’d have nothing to do in the hell hole that is her mind.

And everyone knew that Gemma wreaked havoc when she got bored.

She remembers Tara asking her why she did it, on their ambulance ride to the hospital. Tara had stared at her with scared and disbelieving green eyes and asked, “Why’d you do it? I mean, just when I think I’ve got you figured it out… why, Gem?”

At the time, she’d considered any vast array of witty answers or answers meant to sting. She’d pondered calling her out on her abandonment of Jax, or maybe even the fact that she should’ve just let Tara take the bullet, considering she was going to die anyways.

But, Gemma had no energy to fight the bitch, so she’d simply settled on, “No one hurts my family,” and allowed the drugs to take her back under. Now she has longer to think _that_ over.

_To be completely honest,_ Gemma thinks, twiddling her ‘metaphorical’ thumbs. _I meant every word. Tara is family, and I love her._

_Then why’d you try to kill her?_ The vicious voice in the back of her head snarls, all fangs and venom. Gemma snorts - or at least, in her head she does. In the real life, her nose twitches slightly and her body reminds completely still.

_I deserved that one._

It was true - no one hurted Gemma’s family and got _away_ with it. No one except for own self. But that was a road she’d have to walk another day, when she could think without feeling weird for talking to herself.

_Anyways_ . If Gemma had _anything_ to say about it, she’d _gladly_ bite a bullet for her family. Figuratively and apparently, literally. Besides, she couldn’t let Tara die messy like that. The part of Gemma that still wants her dead, wants to do it herself. By her _own_ hand. She doesn’t want some messy Hispanics or Chinese messing up the job and doing something other than carefully, thought out torture. The girl, did after all, try to take her babies.

_But they’re not your babies, are they? No, they’re not really, Gemma. You don’t have any babies anymore. They’re either dead or wallowing in their hatred for you_ , the voice points out. Gemma fights the urge to throw a mental temper tantrum. She hates it when fuckers that aren’t her are right. Even if, _technically_ , they _were_ her. However _that_ shit worked.

She supposes the Doc was right about Charming being a cesspool, in the end. Although, if she were awake, she’d never utter it _out loud_ . But what Tara had said was true - Charming was _bad_ news. When she was young and she left for those two months, before she returned with a biker gang licking at the ground she walked on, Gemma had _reveled_ in the freedom. She’d had a job, her own apartment, she was going to school to be a lawyer. _Go figure._ The point was, she’d hated Charming just as much as Tara had. She _never_ wanted to return.

But a biker some seventeen years her senior and a baby baking in her oven had driven her back. And a lifetime of lying, fighting, manipulating, and heartbreak had conditioned her to believe that Charming was a safe haven. Not the hell she’d _originally_ thought it was. She’d been blinded by the money, the sex, the booze and the drugs. She’d let the MC pull the wool over her eyes, and all along, she’d thought she’d been doing the wool-pulling.

For the majority of her life, Gemma had seen Charming as a reprieve.  But when she was younger - from the ages of ten to eighteen, she remembered those years especially - she felt as though she needed to get out. She wanted to open up her own practice and she couldn’t do that with the demons of that place breathing down her young, little neck. Her bullshit mother, her _bitch_ of a _father_ \- she’d needed to get _away_ from it. She’d needed her _escape_ . She’d gone back to Charming and away from the rest of the world so that she could have the very things that JT promised her - _freedom and control over her own life_ . And now she needed to get out of Charming to get out in the world so she could have the very things she’d promised herself - _freedom and control over her own life_.

Gemma makes up her mind that if she pulls through this shit alive, she’s taking Nero and her savings and fronting the money for the farm. They’ll use his savings to live off of, and she’d wear straw hats while she tended to her garden. They’d take his son and their birds and they’d be the perfect, white picket fence…

Gemma stares hard at the vast of white before plopping down on the floor and hugging her knees close to her chest. She wasn’t going to delve any deeper into her mind for now - she didn’t want her family to think that she’d willingly run into the light.

**_*--.--*_ **

Jax drops everything as soon as he gets the call.

He’d been at the club, shooting pool with Chibs and talking business. The place had been empty - sans for them, Juice and Tig - and they weren’t the only ones that noticed the missing scent of expensive perfume, baby powder and cigarettes. There’d been no business at TM that day - they didn’t work on Sundays, for the sake of their workers that had Church. And when there was no business at TM, Gemma was at the clubhouse. Bartending. Cleaning. Hounding the boys to wash their asses. Being overall _motherly_. Jax hates himself for growing dependant on it - if Gemma were here, he would’ve done more than play pool and worry about what went down after his visit with his boys.

“So are we _really_ going to _not_ talk about the elephant - or lack thereof - in the room?” Juice asks, looking up from wiping down his guns. Tig and Jax each shoot him hard glares.

“You callin’ Gemma an elephant, Juicy?” Tig asks, hands curling and uncurling into fists. Juice’s eyes widen as he shakes his head, cheeks already burning a bright red. Jax knows that Juice would never intentionally disrespect his mom that way - Gemma was the closest thing he had to a mother, and Juice loved her and his life too much to do that. But Tig didn’t know that, and Jax is content to watch a good beating.

“Dude, no! It’s a fucking metaphor,” the young man exclaims. “I’m just _saying_. Where is she?”

“What business of it is yours?” Chibs asks, downing a shot as he takes his aim at the table. Juice shrugs and goes back to cleaning, face still burning red. “Oh, boy. I think someone’s got themselves a lil’ crush, Jackie!”

Juice’s hands still, and he opens his mouth, but closes it again. Choosing instead to reconsider his words. There’s a thick silence in the room as the three men stare at the younger one. Finally, Juice sets down the gun and shrugs.

“I just… I like when she’s around, okay? She smells good and she’s really nice to me and she calls me sweetheart and I like the way she looks after us, y’know? I didn’t have much of a _mom_ . I miss her, _alright_? Sorry, Jax.” He relents, before sliding off the barstool and stalking into one of the dormitories. They wait to listen for the door slamming behind him, before breaking out into laughter.

Chibs is about to say something - probably some raunchy ‘Mommy kink’ joke that’ll leave Jax shuddering and repulsed - when Jax’s phone rings. He’s not surprised to find it’s Tara - it’s time then.

“Yeah,” he says, not bothering with hello. “I’m on my way, don’t worry.”

“Shut up, Jax!” Tara snaps, but her voice betrays her bravado anger because it shakes. Like she’s been crying. “Get your ass down here to St. Thomas. Bring the boys and get Nero.”

“Wh- what happened, Tara? Are the boys okay?” he asks, pressing the receiver hard against his face, in hopes that it’ll make her answer faster. He’s ignoring her other instructions - St. Thomas too loud in his ears. If anything happened to Abel or Tommy… he’s not sure how he’d cope. Especially since he won’t be there for them very soon.

There’s a long pause on the other line - all he can hear if her heavy breathing and hospital sounds. She’s definitely been crying. “Tara!”

“Your mother’s been shot!” The news knocks the air of Jax’s chest and he stumbles back in shock. Tara’s still talking, but he hears nothing of what she’s saying because the phone slips from his fingers and shock blankets his face. A familiar pain pricks at his nose and his eyes well up.

Unbeknownst to Jax, on the floor, the line goes dead.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gemma is considering getting out and Jax just found out what happened to his mother! What happens next, you guys? Tune in next Wednesday!


	3. Strange Love

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let the Games begin!

The first voice she hears beside her own is Nero’s and that’s pretty ironic because the last time she heard his voice, he was begging her to run away with him. Run off to the farm with Lucius, leave behind the MC and Charming and her family. The last time they’d spoken, they’d fought.

But now here he was, by her bedside. She can’t see him, of course. All she sees is the neverending light that seems like it’ll swallow her whole at any moment, declare to the world that all Gemma Teller-Morrow was anymore was a legacy.

She can hear him though. He sounds so destroyed, so _hurt_. She can hear the heartbreak in his voice. She wants to run towards his voice, and soon she’s doing just that. Her heels slam against what she guesses is the floor as she runs towards the direction of his voice, desperately wanting nothing more than to hold him and tell him it’ll be okay.

_“Gemma_ ,” his voice coos. “ _the doctors say you can you hear me. I don’t know about that, but you know I’m a man of faith. So… here goes. Come back, baby doll. Please. I need you. I can’t… I feel like I’ve met my soulmate with you and I’m not going to get you just to lose you._ ”

_You’re not going to lose me_ , Gemma wants to soothe, feeling something clog her throat. She’s choking on her own sorrow. _I’m here ‘til the day we die, baby. Together._

“ _I… I don’t know what I’m going to do if you don't come out of this. I don’t know what Lucius’ll do either. You know he calls you Mom when you’re not paying attention? Yeah, likes to say, ‘Yo, Papi, can you bring mama back here soon?’ and there’s so much hope in his eyes, baby doll. God, that boy loves you so much, Gem. And Jax… he has Tara and his boys but you’re still his rock. We all… we all need you. Mama, please._ ”

Gemma stops running and fists at her hair, ready to pull it out. She wishes he could hear what she was thinking, wishes he could understand that she heard him and she was there for him and she loved him.

“ _I guess I’m just saying… don’t let go yet, mama. Fight this. I’m sorry for the things I said last time we spoke, okay? I’m really sorry, and whether or not you come back, I’ll regret that shit ‘til the day I die. I love you so fucking much that I don’t know what to do with myself. I miss you in the morning when I wake up and I miss you at night when I go to sleep. I crave everything that is you, Gem. I want you… no, fuck that. I_ need _you, so fucking bad. Come back to me, baby. And we’ll be normal - I promise, I will dote on your every command._ ”

Gemma can feel his voice fading, as if he’s moving away from her. Blindly, she reaches out in the general direction of his voice, hoping that he’ll register her neediness and come back. He couldn’t leave her yet. She needed to keep hearing his voice, needing to keep hearing that he wasn’t going anywhere.

“ _When you wake up, we’ll go wherever you want. Japan, Canada, my farm… hell, we’ll stay in Charming if that’s what you really want. But come back baby. Don’t let me lose you too._ ”

And with that, her Nero is gone.

**_*--.--*_ **

Nero steps out of the hospital room with tears running tracks down his cheeks and his eyes red and puffy. Tara stands when she sees him - everyone had cleared the room out to give him a moment of privacy - and Nero opens his arms to her. They embrace tightly, Tara burying her cheek in Nero’s shoulder.

“She’s gonna make it out of this, Nero,” she whispers into his ear. Nero says nothing as he pulls away, but she can tell he’s grateful for the sentiment. He slips away quietly, not even sparing a glance to Jax, who twiddles his thumbs in his chair.

He’s yet to gather the courage to see his mother - judging from what Tara told him, he doesn’t want to see her like that. It was bad enough he saw her face after she was raped and then again, after Clay nearly killed her. Seeing her hooked up to wires and tubes, barely holding onto her wisps of life…

Jax isn’t prepared for it. He’s not prepared for any of this shit, but especially not that. No child should have to see his mother like that - no child should have to find out that his mother took a bullet to protect his wife.

They all sit in silence awhile longer. Tara plans to leave the kids with Lyla and Opie for a couple of days, so she’s not in too big of a rush to get home. The others are still recovering from shock. Juice still hasn’t stopped crying, and Chibs disappeared into the bathroom an hour ago. Bobby seems shaken by it all, his hands trembling as he grips a flask. Half-Sack and Rat are out on a food run - but that’s mostly a bullshit lie so that they could get away with talking about what happened without getting their faces turned to pulp. No one was really hungry anyways. The only one remaining stoic was one of the closest to her.

Although, Tig stands eventually, wipes his palms on his jeans. “She’s my little sister. I need to… if this is the last time… there I things I need to wrap up with her. Anyone mind that?”

No objections from the Club - then again, why would there be? Nodding to Tara, Tig opens the door to his younger sister’s room and the door doesn’t close fast enough to stop them from hearing the choked sob that escapes his throat. It was no secret that growing up, Tig looked after Gemma. Made sure she was taken care of - protected her from the wrath of their mother and the icy indifference of their father. And it didn’t end there - even when they ran away with the Club, he looked after her. It was he who beat John bloody for cheating on her and he who insisted that Clay die, time and time again, but only _after_ he laid a hand on her.

Tig never let anyone hurt Gemma and get away with it.

No one was going to deny him a last couple of moments with his sister. Jax is actually considering going in there with him, maybe getting some stuff off their chest together, when a strangled cry comes from further down the hallway.

He stands up and follows the direction of the noise, looking for an excuse so that he can change his mind about saying goodbye to his mother. He finds it, curled on the floor of the hallway, sobbing hard. Nero’s face is buried in his face, but it’s no secret that he’s crying. His shoulders shake with each cry, and he lifts his head to the ceiling of the hospital to give another wet scream.

“Hey, man, hey!” Jax calls, kneeling next to him. Nero shakes his head before hiding it in his hands again. “C’mon, Nero. You’re making a fool of yourself.”

“I don’t care, Jax!” Nero yells, slamming his hand against the floor. “I don’t care what I am. Not as long as she’s not… as long as…”

He trails off into another heart wrenching sob. Jax sighs, settling down next to the man. When Tara had told him that one of the men trying to kill her and Gemma had been Spanish, Jax had honestly considered Nero’s crew. A petty argument gone bad leaves him with a bruised ego and a need for revenge against Gemma. Hell, the man had even been planning on taking it to the Club - having Nero killed for hurting his mother.

But now, sitting here and watching him fall apart because he thinks Gemma will never breathe on her own again… Jax shakes his head. It couldn’t have been Nero. Nero loved her too much to do something like that to her - more than he and Clay and John ever had combined. Nero would give his life in placement for hers, he wouldn’t have her killed.

“Hey, she’s gonna make it. My mom’s a fighter. You know it - you’ve seen her. Don’t tell me she’s never kicked the ass of some bitch who tried to get under your boxers?”

This coaxes a small smile from the older man, has him draping his wrists over his knees and knocking his head back against the wall. Nero sniffles, shakes his head.

“We were in a bar, for the first time _together_ . I was sitting at some booth in the back and she went to get drinks - we were celebrating, y’know? Clay was gone and their legal separation was _just_ going through and… it was a good night. Excuse me, Jax, but she looked _damn_ fine too. She was wearing this cute little long-sleeved black dress with these heels… we’d just come back for a romantic dinner,” he explains as a side note. Jax nods, smiling at the idea. His mother, wearing a short dress, with her hair elegantly pinned back and her make-up done just so the shadows make her look younger… he doesn’t doubt the man for a second.

“Then this little _mamacita_ decides that I’m that night’s catch. I tried to brush her off - my eyes were on your mother’s… er… backside, and I didn’t care too much for the girls young enough to be my daughter anyways. But she was _persistent_ . Soon she’s straddling my lap and I’m just thinking, ‘ _Oh shit, I’m not ready for a vasectomy’_.”

Jax laughs and so does Nero. And his smile only widens from there.

“And Gemma comes over, grabs the girl by her red hair and throws her on the floor. Dumps a shot glass full of good Bacardi on her face - get’s all in the poor girl’s eyes. Then she gets real low and says, _‘Next time you fuck with my man, I’ll rip out those pretty blue eyeballs’_. Oh, I remember looking at her like she gave me the world’s wonders. We drank our drinks, paid, and then I took her home to…” Nero trails off, sparing a glance at Jax, who grimaces.

“I don’t need the details,” he says. Nero chuckles.

“I have so many more amazing memories like that with her… and I want to make more Jax. I’m not ready to lose your mother,” he whispers. Jax nods, runs a hand through his hair.

“And we’re not going to. We’re going to-”

He’s cut off by a familiar scent - of heavy cigars and bad cologne. A shadow casts over the two men and they both slide their eyes up slowly to meet the cold, icy blue eyes of Clay Morrow.


	4. Team

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Due to Tig and Gemma being half siblings - same father, different mother - I have decided to pretend like that episode where they almost slept together didn’t happen.
> 
> However, I am in the midst of a one-shot in which that scene does happen and it has some unexpected consequences. If anyone would like, I would like to write a Tig/Gemma multi-chapter when I am done with this story (which is a long ways off). If you guys are interested, I will begin working on it. 
> 
> Enjoy!

After her encounter with Nero, Gemma is all but ready to make a deal with the devil if she can only go back to them - back to her strange little family. She’s ready to fight, ready to do anything possible to so that she can hold her grandsons and her child and her Nero again.

But after her visit with Tig, she’s left confused and unsure of what she really wants.

Gemma can sense his presence, in some sort of weird way. As soon as he comes within a certain radius of her, she can tell it’s her big brother. The brother that she grew up with, the brother that watched after her all his life. She can’t actually feel anything, but she can sense his emotional pain. And that only strengthens when he speaks.

“ _Remember when we were little, and I was teaching you how to ride a bike?”_ Tig asks, his voice heavy with sadness. _“I remember. I kept pushing and you kept screaming,_ ‘Don’t let go, Tiggy! Don’t let go!’ _. And I replied with,_ ‘I’m not, I’m not!’. _And I didn’t let go. Not until I was sure you could do it on your own. And even then, I kept holding on for a few minutes longer, making just sure you wouldn’t tip over on your little legs._ ”

Of course she remembered. Her mother had thought bike riding was for little heathens, not for little girls of the Lord, so Gemma didn’t learn how to ride a bike until she was ten. And the day Tig taught her, she’d been terrified out of her little mind but dead set on pissing off her mother. They’d used his bike - which was considerably bigger than her ten-year-old legs allowed - and Tig hadn’t let go until she said he could. He even cleaned up her scrapes when she swerved and fell. He’d looked after her that day, just like he had every day before and since.

_“I don’t think I’ve ever let go of you, Gemma. I have kept you within my reach ever since Papa put you in my arms with name Gemma Rose Madock. You were just my half-sister but I loved you fiercely. And I still do. But I don’t want your obligation to protect us - all of us, not just me and you - to keep you here on Earth if you don’t want to be.”_

Tig pauses, and takes a deep, shaky breath.

_“What I’m saying is… you can let go, Gemma. I don’t mind. You can… if you want, you can let go. I wouldn’t… I wouldn’t blame you honestly.”_

Gemma’s thought train comes to a slamming halt. Should she? Should she fight to get back to Abel and Thomas, and Jax and Nero and Tara and Chibs and Juice and everyone else she ever loved. Or should she let go, like her Tiggy was telling her to do. If she went back, there was a high chance that she could be shot again or even worse, killed, before she and Nero got out.

It was a toss-up. A fifty-fifty chance.

And it leaves Gemma’s decision blurry.

* * *

Nero and Jax escort Clay back to the waiting room, saying nothing to him as they walk. They had nothing to say - Clay had been hurting Gemma ever since she took on the hyphenation of ‘Morrow’. He had manipulated her, lied to her, cheated on her and - even worse - abused her. He didn’t deserve the honor of seeing her like that - so small and fragile and gone to the world. But Jax wants him to see it so he could hurt, hurt just like the rest of them.

Clay’s face is impassive as they arrive to the waiting area, and seeing Tig exit her room with tears in his eyes does nothing to change that. He simply settles down in a chair and exhales sharply. All eyes are on him - waiting for the right moment, waiting for him to say or do anything that’ll give them an excuse to fuck up his shit.

“I love her _just_ as much as you do, brothers,” he says, his voice barely above a rasp. “But I will refrain from visiting her until you decide it is my time - I want you to see that I am completely devoted to this woman. Now, what are the doctors saying?”

Tara steps in then, clipboard in hand. Sensing an impending fight, she takes a position standing between Jax, Nero and Clay. If she didn’t do something soon, there’d be a tussle and Tara couldn’t have them being kicked out of the hospital. They all needed to be there for Gemma.

She waits until the tension leaves the two men behind her before closing the waiting room doors and locking them. If anyone wanted to wait for their family members, they’d have to do it outside for a bit.

“I’ve been waiting for the right time to tell all of you this. You might want to sit down,” she says, glancing over her shoulder at her husband and Nero. They hesitate, but their need to know how Gemma is doing overpowers their need to remain tough-asses. Nero and Jax plop on each side of Clay, concern in both sets of eyes.

“The doctor said that the bullet had made an exit wound. Which means there will be no extraction surgery. There’s nothing _major_ hit - she’s _mostly_ in the coma due to the shock from the blood loss. They expect that in four to five days, she’ll wake up. But that’s only if everything is stable. Her heart condition can’t really take all of this stress her body’s been put under - they said that if her heart beats on it’s own within the next three days, they can take her off the support. A little while after that, she should wake up.”

“That’s _great_!” Juice exclaims. Everyone in the room turns to glare at him, and the small man shrinks in his seat.

“What else, Tara? You’re holding _something_ back,” Jax accuses. Nero frowns, looks to his surrogate son. Tara refrains from wincing - it’s not going to be easy.

“Nero… would you like to speak privately?” she offers. The older man shakes his head, looks at Tara in absolute confusion. He didn’t know, then. That would make her job much harder.

Although, she’s delivered this news a thousand times before. She can do it again.

“Very well then. I would like to congratulate you - you’re a father… again. Gemma was three weeks pregnant with twins. Unless… Clay…” her eyes shift to the older man who shakes his head.

“No, no. My soldiers stopped marching a long time ago.”

“And… has Gemma had any other sexual partners?” Tara asks, glancing around the room. She knew how close the men in the club were - sharing women had never been a problem with them. Although, Gemma wasn’t just any woman - maybe it’s a stupid question. The men shake their heads before Rat blushes and raises his hand.

“She made me put my hand on her tit so I’d stop calling her ma’am,” he announces, looking around the room. Nero does a small half-smile and Tig cracks his knuckles before making a slicing motion across his neck and glaring hard at Rat. _The testosterone levels in this room are too high,_ Tara thinks fondly.

“That doesn’t get women pregnant, you _moron_!” Half-Sack hisses, smacking the side of the prospect’s head. Tara smiles affectionately before turning back to Nero, whose smile has slid from his face again.

“Then… you are indeed the father of her children. Er… child,” she corrects. “Gemma did indeed have twins, but due to the bullet wound and the loss of blood… I believe there’s only one child now. And the doctors don’t think that it’ll make it either. Like I said, the stress and the blood loss and her heart condition… not to mention her age-”

“I need to see her. I need to see her again. Can I do that?” he asks.

“By all means,” Tara concedes. Jax stands and shoves his hands in his pockets.

“I’ll go with him.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, you may be wondering why I started the chapter with Tig asking Gemma to die and ending it with the news that she wouldn't.
> 
> And that'll all be explained later. Much later. Like... in the Epilogue. I promise though. It'll make sense.


	5. Born to Die

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You all get an early chapter because I'm not sure if I'll be able to post tomorrow and I don't want you to miss your chapter. 
> 
> Also, I have notes for you guys to read. Please scroll down and read them when you're done with the chapter c:

Gemma is still contemplating what Tig told her when Nero’s voice returns, followed by Jax’s. All thoughts of obeying her brother and ‘letting go’ are completely erased from her mind - she’s decided that she’s going to fight, plain and simple as that. And all it took was hearing her baby’s voice. She’s overjoyed that her son is there - she’d heard from everyone _except_ him so far. For all Gemma knew, he could’ve been killed by the same people who had tried to kill her and Tara. But he wasn’t - he was fine, sitting by her bedside with Nero. Just put Abel, Thomas and Tig in the room and all her boys would be with her - grieving but safe.

Nero clears his throat and Gemma keens her ears, wanting to hold onto every word he was uttering. She never wanted Nero to leave, but when he did, she wanted to have as much of him to hold onto in his absence.

“ _Hey, ma- Gemma,_ ” he whispers, stopping just short of the moniker he so affectionately dubbed her. Gemma stares - or at least, in her mind she does - confused at the sudden change of heart. Nero loved calling her ‘mama’ and she loved hearing it. _“Someone’s here to see you.”_

_“Mom,”_ Jax’s voice says, and the confusion is evaporated. _“Hey. Uh- what do I say?”_

_“What do you want to tell her?”_ Nero asks in reply, and there’s fatherly affection in his voice that makes Gemma’s heart flutter. She’s overjoyed to know that while she can’t, someone else is looking out for her Jax. Being the parent that she couldn’t be.

_“I uh… I’m pissed with her for what she tried to do to Tara. I'm pissed with her for getting shot and leaving me with this whole fucking mess. I’m pissed with her for leaving - for not being here when I need her. I love her. Nero, this is too fucking weird. She's not going to die. Why am I doing this?"_

“ _When someone is in a coma, you don't talk them because you think they're going to_ die, hermano _. You talk to them because you need to ground yourself. And because you never know who could still be listening. Yeah, she's there and yeah, give it a couple of days and she'll be back. But... humor me, eh?_ ” Nero insists. Gemma cringes - she wishes people would stop acting like she was dead. She has plenty faith that she’ll come out of this soon - and when she does, she’ll kick their asses for pretending that she was gone forever.

“ _Fine. Uh… I can’t do all this without you. It's a shitty world where a kid has to see both of his parents like this in a lifetime. So hurry and cut the shit with all this coma stuff and get your ass back to the real world. I just want to know you're okay. For sure. Not some statistic or some number or some doctoring lingo. And uh... I'm sorry. I'm sorry this happened. I love you and... I'm sorry._ ”

_I’m coming back, baby. Don’t you worry._

“ _I’m going to go get some of the shitty coffee. You want anything?_ ” Jax offers - too soon for her liking. Nero says nothing in reply, so Gemma guesses that he shakes his head, and then the sound of the room door closing punctuates her sons exit and leaves behind a silence. All she can hear is Nero breathing heavily and the sounds of her hospital equipment.

“ _I have a surprise for you, Gemma_ ,” Nero coos. His voice is still heavy with tears and Gemma wonders how long it’s been since his last visit - seconds? Minutes? Hours, days, weeks? To her, it felt like eons - waiting for her love to return to her bedside. “ _I think you’d like it. But I have some bad news too._ ”

_What is it, baby?_ Gemma asks mentally. Nero fidgets around in his seat for a moment, she can hear him moving about. There's a long silence following his last sentence before he gives a slow exhale. Gemma can almost picture him running his hand over his face, attempting to rub away the burden and exhaustion of his next words.

“ _Your surprise is that you’re gonna be a mommy, again. I guess you were wrong when you said your tubes were tired_ ,” he says gently, a small chuckle following his last words. In her conscious, Gemma’s hands flutter to her stomach. There’s a baby in there? Growing, manifesting, becoming a new human life to bring into the world?

“ _But baby, there’s something else. The bullet… we had twins. And the bullet killed one of them. You still have one child…_ we _still have one child. But the other… they had to do an extraction surgery. I’m sorry, mama, but you miscarried._ ”

Sorrow rocks Gemma to her very core, to the point where she’s thrown off of her feet and onto the floor. _Lost? Miscarriage? Extraction?_  

How could that be possible? The only complications that Gemma’s children had ever experienced were their heart issues. Of course, the loss isn't as devastating as it should be. She’d lost a baby before - Clay had forced her to get an abortion a few times. But that hadn’t been the same - she hadn’t even known these children existed, and now they were already being ripped away from her?

Suddenly everything is too overwhelming and Gemma let’s out a cry, gripping her stomach as pain wretches through her. She wonders if this is her actual body feeling these things or is it some made up conjuring in her head, attempting to put her through more mental wreckage besides taking a bullet.

She doesn’t even notice Nero’s quiet sobbing on the other end of the spectrum, doesn’t notice the way the loss tears him apart too.

\--

As the night begins to fall, the members of the MC slowly begin to trickle out. Juice heads home to pick up some things for Nero and Tig - the two that would be staying with Gemma overnight. Jax and Tara go to pick up the kids from Lyla and grab a bite to eat - both realizing that there’d be nothing they could do until Gemma woke up, and right now they needed to be with their children. To explain why they wouldn’t see Grandma Gemma for awhile. Eventually, Half-Sack and Rat talk Clay into going home and coming back tomorrow to see her - and it’s not like Clay has much of a choice, the way Nero is glaring at him. Chibs and Bobby stay a little longer, of course. Offering a distraction and support for the two men about to take vigil by the Queen of SAMCRO’s bedside. But Bobby’s rest calls for him and Chibs has to go lockdown TM.

Eventually, Tig and Nero are left alone. It’s a bit weird, sitting there together. Before this, they hadn’t had the chance to exchange very many words. Nods here and there to each other had been the extent of their interaction - Venus did enough talking for the both of them and herself combined. But now, sitting there with each other, they have a chance to get to know one another better.

They sip the toilet-water tasting coffee water and watch Gemma’s chest fall and rise.

“Y’know, I kinda hate Tara for it,” Tig whispers, setting down his cup. Gemma cries out in her sleep and he speeds up the morphine drip for her. It hurts Nero that the only sound that his girl could make was one of pain. “I do. That bullet was meant for _her_. Not my little sister. But then I think about the fact that it could've boiled down to this anyways and the shitstorm that would’ve occurred if Gemma didn’t take the bullet… I’m willing to forgive.”

“Jax would have never forgiven Gemma for letting Tara die,” Nero sighs, running a hand over his face. “And he hates her for being over there. That boy… she’ll never win with him. In his eyes, she was born to die.”

Tig nods in agreement before fluffing Gemma’s pillows a bit. Small things, to make his coma induced sibling just a little more comfortable. Nero understands the need.

“Nero, she’s going to come out of this. I asked her… I asked her to let go. To just die, so that she didn’t have to suffer anymore. But my little jewel has always been a stubborn old bitch so… when she’s fit to leave here, I want you to get her out of here. Pack her shit, get your kid and take her as far away as you can. Not a fucking _farm_ , where someone or _something_ could find her. _Away_. She’s always wanted to go to Paris - real big on that crumpets and tea shit and she used to have fucking Eiffel Tower figurines in her room. I don’t care where, but my niece or nephew… they’re not going to be raised around SAMCRO. Not like Jax.”

“You want me to take Gemma to _Europe_? Tig, you’d never see her,” Nero whispers, disbelief in his voice. Despite never talking to the man, he was no stranger to the strong bond Gemma and Tig shared. They’d been attached to the hip since birth - wherever Gemma went, Tig went. And wherever Tig went, Gemma went. They were never further than a couple of states away from each other. And now the man was asking Nero to take her midway across the globe, to some faraway country.

Tig shakes his head and smoothes back Gemma’s hair, away from her face. Even in what could be a permanent sleep, she’s angelic.

“I’m willing to make that sacrifice if it means that my little gem can live to see old age,” he confesses.

Nero swallows a lump in his throat - all of this made him nervous. It wasn’t like he didn’t have the money or the resolve to do it - there were plenty of farms he could find in England for Lucius. It was the idea of forcing Gemma to leave her family behind that shook him. She’d never agree to running away from Abel or Thomas or Jax. Not to mention that she wouldn’t leave Tig too far behind either.

“She won’t leave without her boys.”

“Leave that up to me,” Tig sighs. “Give me about six months. Then we’re getting her out of here.”

“Yeah. Yeah,” Nero repeats numbly. He couldn’t even tell _Tara_ \- the only other person he got along with besides Jax. And since he and Gemma started hooking up, Tara had been his only confidant - especially after Carla died. Tara wanted the same things he did - to get her kids away from Charming - and Nero revelled in having someone that understood him. But he couldn’t tell her - she’d tell Jax and then Tig would have his head.

“Good. We’re going to get her out of this, Nero. I can’t bear seeing her like this again.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Did you enjoy? I hope so! For the life of me, I cannot write Jax dialogue. Jesus.
> 
> I have a couple of announcements to make. This is probably going to be a long note - you can keep scrolling away if you life. Nothing vital or important.
> 
> A) I finished writing Biting the Bullet yesterday. I'm not going to spoil anything, but I think you all might be satisfied with the ending. I know I am. But that's a looooooong way to go.
> 
> B) Once I finish all of my Nero/Gemma stories - this means getting WIFLTB to at least thirty chapters and completing Somewhere Over the Rainbow - I am going to do three more stories - although this time, Tig/Gemma.
> 
> Story one will be a fic collection - like WIFLTB but without the lyrics. I'll probably do this for all of the ships that I write. 
> 
> Story two will be a baby fic, but I don't know the plot yet. I actually want something fluffy and AU - something that doesn't have SAMCRO existing or the dirty past that comes with it. What does everyone think of that? 
> 
> Story three - that's up to you guys! Tell me what situation you want to read about Tig and Gemma getting into and out of. Tell me if you want fluff, angst, comedy, drama, etc. 
> 
> But keep in mind - this is till a bit of a ways off. I just want to get started on outlining, plotting, etc so that I'm able to crank out weekly chapters when the time comes. Leave me your thoughts below, lovelies.
> 
> Have a great week! xoxox


	6. Back to Black

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the late chapter. I was so exhausted yesterday that I came home, went to sleep and didn't wake up until this morning. So I'm taking my lunch break to post this. Again, sorry guys.

Gemma hates being trapped inside her own mind, and she makes a little vow to herself to never return to that state. At first she’d been grateful for the time to think, been grateful for the time away from all the chaos going on in the outside world. But the silence was starting to suffocate her, slowly squeezing the air out of her like an inflatable toy. She wants nothing more than to hear Abel’s loud laughter ring through her house, or to hear Thomas gurgle incoherently when he sees her. She wants to see the fond smile that Jax gives her, or the snarky smirk that Tara has after a particularly biting comment. She wants to feel Tig’s lips against the top of her head, a silent reassurance that she’ll be alright.

She wants to see the years fall from Nero’s face as he reaches his climax. Oh god, how she’d missed sex with him, and all the other delightful sensations that came - no pun intended - with it.

Most importantly, however, Gemma wanted to hear the smile in the voices of those she cared about.  Every time she’d heard them speak since she’d become encased in her brain, she’d heard nothing but sorrow or pain or guilt.

Except for Juice. Juice always read her stories, or worked out crosswords or did something else trivial with her. She was grateful for that.

Gemma seems to be running in circles, pacing the neverending whiteness - never wandering too far, afraid of walking into a camouflaged light - when she hears the door creak open. She does a mental spin the wheel - it could land on Nero, whispering sweet nothings and stories about Lucius. It could be Jax, in all his newly discovered awkwardness - he never went through his awkward stage, and it’s becoming more and more transparent with each day she spends in the hospital - or maybe Tara, with her guilt and her apologies. She was getting sick of Tara’s _fucking_ apologies.

Maybe it was Tig, to demand she either wake up or don’t, but don’t leave them in the balance like this. Tig was the most blunt one with her, and she cherished that.

Instead, she gets an unwelcome surprise.

“ _Gemma_ ,” Clay’s voice whispers. It sounds so broken that Gemma wants to scream. She wants him to be strong and coping so that she has a good reason to hate him. She doesn’t want him to be depressed so that she would _pity_ him. “ _What happened to us?_ ”

_Three rings on your right fist,_ she snorts in reply.

“ _I’m sorry, Gemma. I love you. I love you so much. I hate that I love you,_ ” Clay sighs. “ _I’ve been wearing our wedding ring, but yours is… I haven’t seen you with it. So I presume…_ ”

There’s the sound of metal against metal and the crinkling of paper. Gemma’s heart lunges into her throat.

“ _I’ve signed these. They’re just copies… of our divorce papers, baby doll. I don’t want to lose you, I really don’t. I can’t. But… I can’t keep letting shit like this happen to you. You’ve been raped twice due to me, beaten by me, been arrested… I can’t do that shit to you anymore. I love you. So I’m letting you go. It’s for the best. I’ve gotten a restraining order against you, but it’s more for your protection than mine. And after today… I’m just sorry, baby. Maybe one day we can be together again, be happy again, but for right now… you’ve wiped your hands clean of me, baby._ ”

Gemma stands there - or rather, technically, lays - shell-shocked and confused. She wishes she could see his face, wishes she could see if there are any fresh bruises or cuts. Wishes she could see if someone was holding a gun to his head. But all she can do is hear.

The sound of Clay’s clothing suddenly gets extremely close before disappearing completely. If Gemma were awake, she’d have known that it wasn’t a setup.

Clay was going to fix everything. And the restraining order was to make sure that not only Gemma, but the rest of the Sons stayed away. Once again - for their protection, and not his. He didn’t need anyone throwing a wrench in his plans. He needed to do this to protect Gemma - for good.

**_*--.--*_ **

Nero watches Clay’s retreating back with distaste before taking a sip of his coffee. He and Tara only remain - Tig had gone home to take a shower. When he returned, Nero would go and do the same. But for now, he camps out at the hospital, assisting Tara in watching over his love.

“Doctors are expecting the sedatives to wear off tomorrow,” Tara informs casually. Nero nods, a bit distracted with the solemnity of Clay Morrow. She shakes his shoulder, drawing his attention away from Gemma’s ex-husband. “She would’ve woken up today, but the sedatives are to make sure she doesn’t panic when she wakes up. This time next week, we’ll be signing discharge papers.”

“I know,” Nero says icily. His eyes float outside the window, where the small town of Charming bustles below. Tara draws her hand away from him, before narrowing her eyes. 

“What’s gotten into you?” she asks. Nero glances to her, suspicion brewing behind his chocolate eyes,

“It’s a bit of a coincidence, don’t you _think_ , Tara? I mean, she was on her way to kill _you_. You must’ve known that. She takes a bullet to the stomach and you walk out with a little blood on your jeans. It’s all a little… _suspicious_. Now Clay’s signing divorce papers and getting a restraining orders against us? What’re you holding over his head, huh Tara? That you’ll keep taking hits out on her until she finally gives in and croaks? What're you trying to get from him?”

“I don’t like what you’re accusing me of,” Tara growls. Nero snorts, shakes a few strands of hair away from his eyes. Underneath all that anger on his face, though, she can see the exhaustion. The stress, the grief - it’s all starting to eat away at him. Taking it’s toll. He needs to rest, to eat. To relax for a minute, or else the events are going to drive him crazy.

“Look, Nero, I get it. You’re stressed and you’re angry. If the tables were turned, I’d be thinking the same thing about you. But you can’t turn against us. We’re just as pissed off as you are over what happened to Gemma. Yes, I knew she’d come there to murder me. And yes, the shooting and the arrival of the police can all sound just a little too convenient. But I would _never_ kill Gemma. Betray her, lie to her, manipulate her, maybe. But _never_ murder. ‘Cause I like you and I love Jax. And I know what she means to you both.”

Nero’s face softens and he runs a tired hand over it.

“I need sleep,” he concedes. He won’t apologize yet - he’s too tired to come up with some half-baked reason on why it was just the lack of rest talking. “and a shower. An hour, maybe _maybe_ two. Just enough time for me to rest and clear my head. I’ll send Venus up to wait with you.”

“That sounds like a _lovely_ plan. And if _anything_ changes before you get back, you’ll be the first to know. I _promise_.”

Nero nods and rubs at his eyes a little. Tara was right - he was tired. Exhausted, even. And sleeping in the chair beside Gemma’s bed had given him a shitty crick in his neck. He needed to sleep in something that wasn’t made of wood. Needed coffee that didn’t taste like sewer water.

He squeezes Tara’s shoulder before grabbing his sweater and stalking out of the waiting room - down the hall, to the exit of the hospital. Nero knows that once the fog over his head has settled, he’ll feel guilty for even daring to think that Tara could possibly kill Gemma.

Tara waits until he’s completely out of sight before sighing and making her way back to her mother’s bedside. Another hour on the clock of the never ending job of looking after Gemma Teller-Morrow.


	7. Wake Me Up

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry with the late updates. I'll get it together soon guys.

On day eight of Gemma’s admission, she wakes up. She’s in a daze - everything is _extremely_ blurry and her body feels heavier than it should be. She can barely move her head, let alone her arms and legs. Although, she’s not entirely sure she wants to. Everything must be pins and needles from the neck down, she hasn’t moved in so long.

 _It’s better than being dead_ , Gemma thinks bitterly. If her throat weren’t so sore from the tubes being jammed down it, she’d laugh at her little sardonic humor.

When she turns her head, Nero and Tara are curled up by her bedside. Well, not exactly by her direct bedside. Tara sleeps peacefully in the windowsill and Nero’s head lolls to the side after sleeping in the chair. Gemma smirks, drops her eyes down to where his hands are clasped tightly with hers.

“You’ll have a shitty crick,” she rasps, deciding to bulk with the pain. Her voice sounds like a smoker who’s been at it since they were _two_ , but it’s the least of her worries. And when he doesn’t move, she tries not to be disappointed. There were _worse_ disappointments in life. At least he hadn’t bailed. At least he hadn’t died himself. At least she weren’t dead. At least… at least…  

Her eyes flit back to where their hands have moved to her lap. She wants nothing but to be able to lift them to her lips, and kiss them - she’s sure it’d be a _more_ than pleasant awakening for Nero.

Gemma is about to say something again when the door creaks open. A pretty nurse with soft brown hair pinned above her head enters, humming lightly to herself. Gemma can’t help but think about how she reminds her of a younger Tara - the small girl that walked out of Charming, not the braveheart that was cuddled against the warmth of a windowsill beside her. The nurse startles a little when she sees that Gemma is awake and hurries over to greet her.

“Well, _well_. _Look_ who’s up from the _dead_. Good _morning_ , Miss Morrow.”

“Teller,” Gemma corrects. The nurse nods absentmindedly, not missing even the smallest of beats. She must be new to Charming - every woman in town knew that Gemma was Morrow’s old lady, and they usually did double-take when she corrected them on the hyphen in her name.

Why the _fuck_ was she worrying about that when there had been bullets in her goddamned stomach?

“Well, good morning _either way_. How’re you feeling? Are you in pain?” Immediately the woman - kid really, but Gemma’s in a giving mood - goes to make sure the pain meds are running fine. Although, Gemma’s ‘drug drip’ seems to be in check because she beams and goes back to her charts and reports.

“I can’t feel anything,” Gemma admits, more than despising the pull it has in her throat. And god, it’s really _fucking_ hoarse. _And_ unsexy.

The nurse bobs her head eagerly, checking the lines and the drips carefully.

“That’s to be expected. I’m surprised you’re awake before the sedatives wore off - you might slip back into a sleep again, until they’ve completely finished their job. Your drip should be good for a little… the morphine is flowing nicely…” the nurse trails off, muttering something to herself before nodding in approval. Gemma fights the sigh of relief that threatens to escape her lips. She’s not ready to escape the fog of everything and jump feet first back into the real world. Her morphine drip is flowing nicely and she might get a good nap in. “I’ll have your CNA come check your vitals when she’s finished with the other patients. Do you need anything until then?”

Gemma’s stomach rumbles in response and the nurse beams. The older woman gives a wary look to the sweet nurse before her eyes flit down to the bandages wrapped tightly around her midsection. What the fu-?

“I’ll see about having you some breakfast delivered. What’re we feeling like eating? Anything. It doesn’t really have to be breakfast either. Your pick.”

“Honestly, I don’t _feel_ like eating _anything_. But, logically, if it comes off a pig I’ll be satisfied,” Gemma mutters, her mouth watering at the delicious idea of bacon or ham or _both_. It feels like she hasn’t eaten in years - when really it’s only been a week. Or something. _Fuck_ , how long had she been _in_ this shit hole? How long had she been out? What the fuck was happening? What the fuck went _down_?

The nurse nods, pats Gemma’s hand, and slips out of the room. Leaving Gemma alone once more.

She waits until she’s sure there’ll be no more interruptions before looking down at her stomach again. They hadn’t even bothered pulling down her nightgown - her bandaged midriff is there, plain as day. The bandages are clean, a pearly white that makes Gemma want to cringe. Nothing about her felt _clean_. She didn’t remember anything past being shot, but she has a feeling that some dirty shit went down while she was out.

Although, for the first time since she was _thirty-two._ She can’t find it in herself to _care_.

Gemma has to admit - getting shot really fucks some shit up. She’s slightly desperate to say somewhat upright for more than a sum of fifteen minutes, but it quickly gets boring watching the clock tick. Nero and Tara won’t be awake for a couple more hours and _besides_ , the sedatives want more sleep. And although Gemma’s had enough sleeping for the day, her brain fizzles out and eventually, shuts off.

All she can think about is never getting to eat her pork.

**_*--.--*_ **

When Nero awakes, Gemma is already up. She’s chewing on a strip of bacon and flipping through the daytime television. There’s a slight cringe on her face as she watches a girl whip out her breasts for Mardi Gras beads, and she quickly switches the channel to the boring Charming news. Actually, Nero pauses to take interest in it. He watches the slim, curly blonde haired news reporter tell the entire city - town? - that she was sending out personal condolences to the Teller-Morrow family and that they were eager to hear good news.

Gemma was a bitch, but _Clay_ had enemies - not her. The people were pissed she got shot and they were demanding she get press. Bigger coverage. Competent cops. _Something_. And if that didn’t say a fucknut about Charming, he really had no fucking idea what did.

Nero barely gives the energy to snort. It was really goddamned twisted. But she was back. And she was alive. And she was gonna have questions soon. He really didn’t want to be the one to have to answer them right now, but he knows she’s counting on him.

After all - her son failed her and her only daughter is waiting for the light at the end of the tunnel.

He watches her for a little while, basking in her glory. Her hair falls in tangled, loose knots over her shoulders, and her face is void of makeup. Without her six-inch-heeled boots or her tight jeans or her even tighter blouses, Gemma looks so much younger and fragile. Actually, she looks pretty damned cute and when the fuck did she get a dimple in her right cheek?

Hazel eyes stun him when she turns her head and she smiles warmly at him. It takes a minute for Nero to realize that she’s actually looking at him, and that it’s not some sort of twisted dream. He had a ton of twisted dreams where she woke up and blamed him for this. For getting her shot. For nearly killing her. For murdering their kid.

Nero smiles back.

“Hey, baby,” she greets, and there’s something sweet in her voice. Something that sounds like familiarity. “You like the view?”

“Like is an understatement, mama,” Nero compliments. “You’re beautiful.”

“Flattery will get you nothing but a blowjob in the back of your pick-up truck,” she says with a snort. Nero rolls his eyes - his old Gemma was back. She was here and she was alive and she wasn’t hooked up to tubes or wires anymore. They had a ton of losses in their future but right now, he was just going to enjoy the little victories. He wants to hoop and holler, wants to dance around the room in joy.

Instead, he settles on stealing a piece of her bacon. She makes a move to slap his hand away, but the medicine makes her lethargic, so Nero gets away like a fat cat with the bowl of cream.

“I’d rather it get me something to eat,” he replies, before pressing his lips against her forehead. Gemma leans into the affection and Nero knows that despite being knocked out cold for a week, she missed him just as much as he missed her. “When you wake up?”

“The first time was around six,” she says. “But the sedatives pulled me back under and so the second time was around noon.”

“What time is it _now_ ?” he asks with a frown. He moves to check his watch, but vaguely remembers taking it off to shower the other day. _Damnit_.

“Three,” Gemma replies. “You’re tired.”

Nero shakes his head. He knows that if he admits to it, she’ll dangle it over his head until he goes home to rest again. He also knows that if he shows he’s lying to her, she’ll kick his ass before doing the same thing. But he just got her back - he’s not quite ready to leave her side yet.

“Give me until Tara wakes and I swear on my heart, that I’ll go home and rest in an _actual_ bed.” _Probably yours_ , he adds privately. _So that I’ll still be able to smell your vanilla shampoo and your cherry blossom perfume._

“You better,” she hisses, before the scowl melts off of her face and her features soften again. She goes back to munching on her bacon strip and staring at the television before her eyes fall into her lap. “Thanks for not leaving, baby.”

“Why would I?” he asks. Gemma shrugs and pokes at her food a little. But she doesn’t reply. She just purses her lips into a thin line before blinking rapidly up at him and forcing them into something resembling a smile.

“Hey, find something that doesn’t have an angry black woman on television, yeah?”


	8. Is There Somewhere

It doesn’t take long after Tara waking up for _everyone_ to know that Gemma’s awake. Soon, her once whitewash and bland room is flooded with balloons, plants, get well cards, and drawings from the boys. There’s so much stuff in her room that her nurses actually have to bring in a second tray to fit everything on a surface, and her walls are plastered with so many _cards, posters and drawings from the boys_ that they begin piling up in a corner, no longer able to be hung anywhere.

Gemma has _never_ felt more loved.

Nero gets a lot more pouty once the word gets out as well. Due to the fact that there was an attempt on not only Gemma’s life, but Tara’s, the entire hospital goes on virtual lockdown. Or well, maybe _just_ Gemma’s floor. Not many people are in the ICU ward - Charming is a very, _very_ boring place and Tara is a very, _very_ influential woman - so it’s not long until the entire floor is taken over by a swarm of awkward, gruff, slightly scared bikers. Some that _Gemma’s_ never even met - although she can give a damn less about what _Calihornia_ is doing in his free time - and some that even Nero’s afraid of. And before Gemma, he really wasn’t afraid of anybody.

Of course, shit like love changes things.

There are always two men standing guard at her door, escorting Nero and Tara this place and that, holstering shiny Glocks into their waistbands. Occasionally they’ll ask Gemma if she wants something and she’ll send them on a stupid run for some really bad cheeseburgers, but for the most part it’s to mess with them. To Nero - she has no interest in sniffing the place out or digging her nose where it doesn’t belong. She just wants to go home.

From what Tara explains, that’s not going to happen anytime soon. Charming has been put into uproar by the MC due to the shooting. Jax and the gang aren’t going to stop until the bastards that hurt - or attempted to hurt - them pay. It sounds like hell. Then again, for the citizens of Charming, it probably _is_ hell.

But the thing is - the hospital is the best hiding place for everyone right now. It keeps heads low and anyone trying to fuck with them knows it’s packed with burl. If the ones who want the old ladies dead know any better, they won’t try anything stupid. Even if their chances of getting past Calihornia are pretty great. Due to the fact that he’s ogling Gemma’s breasts - or her ass, or Tara’s breasts and ass or anything that walks in there with tits and ass. Including Venus - more than he’s watching their backs, it’s a fairy fifty-fifty chance of survival when he’s on watch.

Even in a hospital gown, ratty sweatpants, and really burnt out seen-before’s - Venus cringes when she wears the same jeans twice in a row, but there’s never any time to change - the old ladies still make biker look… bad. And delicious. Like Eve’s stupid _fucking_ apple.

For Gemma, all this just means is that she doesn’t have to endure a repeat of the first shooting. She messes with some Prospies, she gets ogled by other men, she palms Nero’s dick under the sheets and beckons him to walk her to the bathroom. For right now - it’s okay.

For Nero this means no private time. Sure, quickies - which are mindblowingly great these days and somehow, made all about him - are fantastic but he really wants to worship her like she deserves and… it’s a bit hard with eyes everywhere. Not only is there always someone outside the room, there’s always someone else _in_ the room. Whether it be Venus - flitting about, complaining in her thick Southern accent about the _terrible_ decor of the hospital - or Tara - who usually just curls up by the windowsill with a book and tries not to listen in too much on Gemma and Nero’s flirting - or Tig - who just glares at Nero every time his hand wanders anywhere south of Gemma’s chin and complains about how bored he is - it’s always _someone_.

Rarely Jax. And Nero knows Gemma is good at pretending she doesn’t miss him but her heart aches that he can’t trust her at the moment.

Nero misses the days where he could hold his girlfriend, or kiss her or say something sweet to her without getting a wrinkled nose from Tara or enduring the loud coos of Venus Van Dam. Or a threat to his goddamned manhood by the brother that was adopted? Somehow fostered? He still wasn’t sure how Gemma was related to him but fuck all.

One day there are more than three people in her room at once and Nero is absolutely _sure_ that he’s been thrown into the deepest, _fiery_ pits of hell. He almost considers taking his gun from his waistband and putting it to his head. Afterall, Calihornia tried it. Except it was in his mouth. Staring at _Gemma._ Who simply smirked and winked back.

Nero really doesn’t think he’s going to be blowing his brains out. He rather thinks his girlfriend will be doing that.

It’s one of the rare days that Jax offers to come visit her - one of the rare days that he agrees to take a break from SAMCRO to see about his _mother_. Abel and Thomas have been left with Lyla - apparently, they’re too young to be allowed on the ward, and Tara doesn’t want them to see Gemma hooked up to tubes and wires or some maternal shit excuse that she’s just trying to protect them - so he’s actually with _her_ , not flitting about the hospital, checking up on Tara and his boys and then back to Tara and then back to his boys.

This means there’s all out pandemonium in Gemma’s bedroom.

He grits his teeth in annoyance as Tara and Venus get into yet _another_ lengthy conversation on what goes down in Venus’ _southern Georgia_.

Gemma, Tig and Jax are a bit distracted with the makeshift card game they’ve set up on her food tray using Abel’s flash cards from Tara’s purse. No one ever remembers to bring playing cards, so it looks like the flash ones would have to do. It looks boring as fuck, but Nero wouldn’t know because he can’t hear a damn thing due to the all of the goddamned chatter in the room.

“So, are you like… fifty percent woman and fifty percent male or…”

“- Go Fish, sweetie!”

“Honey, my south regionals are really-”

“Hey, fuck off, ma!”

“- yeah, I get it. I’m just really curious about-”

“No, I’d rather fuck your partner.”

“Hey, watch it, Padilla.”

“Really?” Nero asks. “I didn’t even open my mouth, this time Tig. She made the insinuation. I’m sorry if it’s true. I didn’t mean to ruin her innocent _virtue._ I thought Calihornia did that already, excuse me.”

“ - curiosity is one thing, but prying is another and I honestly don’t -”

“ - I’ve been sleeping with her for a little over three months now, you’d think you’d cut me some -”

“ _Everybody, shut the_ fuck _up!_ ” Gemma bellows, suddenly really fucking pissed. The room goes completely silent and all eyes are very much on her. It’s actually the loudest thing she said since her voice started acting like a carburetor. She takes deep breaths to regain her calm. “Tara, stop asking about Venus’ genitals. It’s none of your business - shut up and read a _fucking_ book. Venus, stop arguing with her and just say no, you fuckin’ idiot. Jax, just go fucking _fish_. Nero, stop being jealous - even _I_ think it’s _fucking_ pathetic. The only dick I get in here is attached to my right hand. Tig, leave my boyfriend _alone_. God, he’s not Randy Rollins. Back off, bulldog.”

“Sorry, Gem. I didn’t mean to be a pathetic fucking pussy. I’m sure Randy Rollins didn’t need much ammunition.”

“Nero-”

“Man-”

“I’m not fucking Calihornia. I’m not fucking anyone. I promise. Okay? Trust me. I’m in a goddamned hospital gown that really makes me look half-dead and last week, I _was_ half-dead. I would _much_ rather pick my battles.” There’s the soft thing in her voice again. The one that makes him roll his eyes and kiss her inner thigh and promise her that he was gonna take care of her one day.

A thick silence blankets the room and Nero smirks to himself, finally happy that he can hear what’s going on in the television. He doesn’t usually watch TV, but this particular show is extremely captivating, so-

“I never thought you were fucking Calihornia. Porn stache isn’t your type. I thought it was Tig.”

And he’s genuinely surprised to hear her bark out a laugh because it’s the first one he’s heard from her in two weeks.

**_*--.--*_ **

As the date of Gemma’s release nears, everyone begins biting their nails on how to tell her about the pregnancy. They’d been attempting to do their part in distracting her - Nero with his flatteries and faux coupley arguments, Venus with her incessant chatter, Jax with… well, never really being there, Tara with her talk about the outside world and Tig with his rambling that no one really knew what was about. All they knew was that Gemma understood and it was funny as all get out because she laughed a lot whenever he was talking.

But Gemma’s patience was beginning to wear thin - and the cracks are seeping through. Eventually, she’d run out of distractions and start recognizing the shifty way their eyes dart around the room, or the fear laced through their voices, or the way they tiptoe around talk of the boys because they’re not sure exactly how to break it to her about her own child. Her own dead child. Which would make two. And her own living child. Which would make two. And tie her up about her feelings.

All Nero was thinking was that, eventually, she’d start asking questions - especially about the boys. But to Tara, it seems _wrong_ to talk about Thomas and Abel when one of her own children has died and the other is barely holding onto a thread of its life.

It’s eventually decided that Nero would do the explaining. He was the father of their children and he knew best how to keep her calm.

However, things seem to change when he slips into the room, all prepared to tell her the news, only to find her already crying. At first he thinks she’s laughing, the way her shoulders shake and her lips are pulled back. But when he hears her sniffle, he stops dead in his tracks. His eyes trace her all over from a distance - assessing the injury before acknowledging it, she loved praying stupid pranks that made eighty thousand bikers and nurses rush to her aid - but the only injury he sees lays atop the blankets she’d been buried in by Venus.

Two pairs of baby mittens lay in her lap. One pair has been destroyed - burnt and torn. The other pair remains perfectly in tact - even from the shadows, he can tell that they’re a pure white.

“Nero?” Gemma asks, her voice faint and fragile. “Did you know?”

“Who gave those to you?” he asks, in his best attempt to deflect the question. The only people that knew were the ones that had been in the waiting room that day and Venus - and only her because she’d been snooping around with the doctors and had found out one too many dirty secrets. They’d all been sworn to secrecy - even Clay, who’d Nero managed to talk to. It had to be one of them to do this dirty deed. He’d kill the bastard if he found out who it was. Hell, if it were them _they’d_ want blood, right?

“Biker whore!” she yells over his loud thoughts. Or words. It’s all so deafening in his ears - he hadn’t really caught up to the fact that this was all very real and very, very happening. Nero rubs his hand over his face - he was getting too old for this shit. Too old for these emotional rollercoasters and falling in love and having his girl shot. Too old for miscarriages and secrets and lies and distractions. Just too _old_ . “That’s what Randy Rollins said. I was eighteen - you think Tig was gonna let them stop me from getting my high school diploma? I had three weeks left of school. So he pushed me against a wall and he shoved his cock up my asshole and he said - _biker whore. I bet they love running trains on you. That tight pussy. It never loosens up. Only thing that’ll loosen that snatch - is a fucking_ mistake _money gobbler._ I thought he didn’t know I was pregnant with Jax. But he did. Everyone knew. Everyone _fucking_ knew. Did. You. Know?”

“Yes!” he bellows right back, suddenly overwhelmed by guilt and sadness and _bullshit_. Everything that had happened in the past weeks was just absolute, utter, bullshit. She didn’t need to be saved from it anymore. She didn’t deserve to be saved from it anymore. “Yes, we _all_ knew. _Everyone_. Tara, Jax, Tig, Venus, Clay. Everyone in SAMCRO knew. We were just waiting for the right time to tell you, mama.”

“Get out.”

  
“Gem-”

“I said, get out! Get out, get out, _get out_!” She’s screaming now, jamming her thumb against the nurses button. It doesn’t take long for Nero to be dragged away from the room by the two burly men watching the door and for nurses to replace him. He watches as a flood of them fill the hospital room and close and lock the door behind them.

“I need a drink,” Nero chokes out, the sounds of Gemma’s sons of agony weighing down on his heart.


	9. Howl

The amount of time Nero spends in Gemma’s hospital room becomes less and less as the days leading up to her discharge begin to thin. It’s not by his choice of course - he wants nothing more than to be by Gemma’s side as she figures out what to do and how she feels. He got her into this mess and he at least deserves to help her figure out how to get out. And besides, he made a vow to himself to be there for her through everything after she got shot - made the vow to _God_ . Most importantly, to _her_. And he didn’t intend on backing down from the challenge. Not anytime soon, and definitely not over something that could be explained and made sense of.

It’s Tara who insists he stay home. Prepare the house - not the little apartment they shared in Diosa, but the actual house that she and Clay had - for her return. She suggests he take home all of her get well gifts and find nice places to put them. She tells him to go out and buy all her favorite desserts and drinks. Make her favorite dinner, and order some of the best movies he can think of. Get a pack of smokes ready for her - although he wrinkles his nose at that and reminds her of Gemma’s _condition_ , he agrees anyways because it’s gonna make his girl feel better - Tara even has him pick out the outfit she’ll return home in - says that Gemma’s homecoming needs to be special. Nero knows it’s all a ploy to keep the two separated, but by that point, Gemma’s coming home in two days, so it’s busy work that keeps him distracted.

Tig and Venus also take time away from the hospital - there’s something fresh blooming in the wake of tragedy between those two, and Tara says that they need to take a break from coddling Gemma to work out everything between themselves. She’s pretty sure she doesn’t need to tell them twice - they’re up and out of the room before she can push the subject. Even if Tig spares his sister one last glance before he goes and there’s something in those crazy blue eyes that says he’s very fucking sorry.

The rest of them… well, the club has their own busy work. Tara works it into Jax’s head that they need to figure out who hurt Gemma, so it doesn’t take long for the majority of the bikers that once occupied St. Thomas to be completely evacuated. The only two that remain are Half-Sack and Juice, both of which are too awkward and manage to keep their distance. Juice works crossword puzzles quietly and Half-Sack plays games on his phone and they manage to keep their shit together and quiet. By the time Tara is done with her meddling, Gemma has a little bit more breathing room.

Her actual hospital room is devoid of all the cards, flowers, and posters that once covered every surface - Nero and Juice’s work - and she wears her own pajamas that bring out her sexy side once more. Not the baggy kinds that made her look weak and frail and _vulnerable_. By the time Tara has sat down from all her bossing around, Gemma is wearing a pair of shorts and one of Nero’s t-shirts, working a crossword with her lips pursed. Tara can tell by the way her hair falls delicately around her shoulders and her eyes seem to be prominent and noticeable that she’s been doing her makeup and hair again. Oh yes, Gemma is more than back to her old self.

“You done playing Mommy, now?” Gemma asks, looking up from her puzzle. Tara rubs her eyes tiredly - she’d spent a day arguing and pushing people, she didn’t need to be argued with and pushed herself.

“Really, I don’t need your shit right now. It’s been a long few days, and I’m not going to fight with you,” she snaps back. Gemma shrugs.

“Been a long few days for me too,” she sighs. Her hazel eyes seem to harden and her hand goes stiff, the pencil nearly breaking from the grip she holds on it. Tara accepts the surrender until she hears a choked sob escape Gemma’s lips. When she looks back up, her mother-in-law is hiding her face with a curtain of blonde streaked brown.

“I’m sorry,” Tara says, immediately recognizing her insensitivity. Whether or not Gemma was manipulating her right now - she didn’t care. Gemma had been shot, went through minor cardiac arrest, been in a coma, woke up, found out she was pregnant, and miscarried one of her children all within a span of a couple of weeks. The last thing she needed at that specific moment was for someone to snap at her. She was still fragile - mentally, emotionally and physically. It would take some getting used to, being able to break her so easily.

“That was cruel,” the younger woman continues. She rests her hand on Gemma’s shoulder, but her mother-in-law shrugs it off violently.

“I’ve just…” she trails off, swiping desperately at her tears. “You _faked_ a miscarriage, and blamed the murder on _me_. How does it feel being responsible for the real death of a child?”

“Gemma!” Tara exclaims, jumping away from the woman. The words burn her, leave her hands sweating as if they’d been too close to heat. It was true - what she’d done to Gemma then had been absolute _bullshit_. It had been unfair to women that had actually miscarried, and now unfair to Gemma. But it wasn’t Tara’s fault that her mother-in-law had lost her baby. And it wasn’t her fault that she’d jumped in front of the bullet either.

It was a little unfair to blame Tara for the death of one of Gemma and Nero’s children. It was more than a little unfair, actually.

Gemma snorts and sets down her pencil on the paper delicately. She all but throws the tray table away from her before shimmying under the covers of her hospital bed. Tara watches as Gemma turns her back to her, facing the door of her hospital room. She can’t see Gemma’s face, but she can picture the devastation and determination on the woman’s expression as she tries to hold herself together.

“I’m going to bed, Doc. If you wanna kill the other one while I’m sleep, at least don’t leave the _fucking_ mittens behind.”

*--.--*

Gemma’s homecoming is even more grandeur than Abel’s was - which, really, isn’t saying much. But to Jax, that’s certainly a feat - Abel’s homecoming may have just been family, but it had been showered with gifts, food, drinks and laughter. Gemma’s homecoming seems to consistent of two families pulled into one giant family reunion - with the girls from Diosa and everyone who’d ever seen Gemma in their life from the Club all congregated in her house. It’s a goddamned party.

Jax, Tara and Gemma all pull up to the house at around noon - the discharge had been fast and simple due to the fact that hospital administrators wanted her out of the goddamned hospital as soon as she could so that she could take her biker buddies with her - and they’re greeted by Abel, Thomas, Tig and Venus waiting outside.

Thomas is perched happily on Venus’ hip, playing with the strands of her beautiful brown tendrils - actually weaving it through her hoop earrings that Gemma knows from experience is gonna hurt like a bitch later - and Tig plays a mini-version of tag with Abel as they watch the family drive up. If Gemma didn’t know the father of the boys, she’d think of it as some sort of twisted family picture.

Gemma greets the boys first, but surprises everyone when it’s a brief meeting. She gives them each a gentle kiss on the head, a hug, and one of the stuffed animals brought to the hospital before turning her attention away from them. Abel tugs at her pants leg insistently - he wanted to show Grandma the new words that Uncle Nero had been helping him with - but Gemma basically pretends that he’s not there.

At first, Jax is angry with her for ignoring his son and he prepares to march over to her and show her a piece of his mind. But Tara gently reminds him that she _just_ lost a baby and she might soon lose another one. She was going to be adverse to any children under the age of eighteen for quite awhile - she may even grow to abhor the child she was carrying if it lived long enough to see the light of day.

Jax keeps his mouth shut then, thanks the heavens that Wendy hadn’t miscarried Abel and Tara hadn’t miscarried Thomas. _Or_ any other child.

Gemma gives Tig and Venus a warmer greeting than she had his sons however. Although she just suffered from a gunshot wound, she still clicks around on her heels, smiling at each of them and actually putting up with Venus’ incessant chattering. She embraces Tig tightly and he doesn’t seem to want to let her go - his nails actually dig into the cloth of her shirt, which must hurt her somewhat. But Venus cuts in and holds Gemma like an younger sister greeting her older one - tightly and full of hope.

Each of them have a quiet exchange before Gemma pulls away with a smile and allows herself to be escorted into the house.

When the trio is gone, Abel quickly runs up to his father.

“Does Grandma not love me anymore, daddy?” he asks quietly, blue eyes shining with tears. Jax shakes his head and lifts his son into his arms. “I want grandma to love me, though. I love _her_.”

“Grandma loves you, Abe. I promise. She’s just… she needs to love her own baby before she loves her grandbaby. Does that make sense?”

“Grandma has a baby?” Abel whispers in shock. Tara smiles at her son's unadulterated innocence, and shifts Thomas in her arms so that she’s able press her index finger against her lips. Codeword to Abel that meant ‘be quiet’ or ‘it’s a secret’. He nods his head and makes a zipper against his mouth before allowing himself to be carried into the house.

The party is in full swing by nightfall - everyone in the house is laughing, drinking or doing something _else_ that demonstrates a good time. Lyla’s kids play happily with Abel and Thomas in a separate room - away from the weed, alcohol, and cursing that all the adults seem to be doing. Tara makes multiple offers to go join them - to watch them to make sure they don’t get into anything. But Jax always squeezes her shoulders and tells her lighten up a bit - there was a big probability that the kids had fallen asleep anyways.

Not to say they didn’t check on them - every once in awhile, Tara or Jax or Lyla would go and make sure that they were okay. Around eight, Thomas _does_ fall asleep so Tara hooks a baby monitor to her waistband. Other than that - they’re relatively quiet, busy with toys, and calm.

So she finally allows herself to enjoy the festivities.

Besides, there’s a lot of fun going on. Some croweaters and Diosa girls have started up a game of ‘Truth or Dare’ amongst some of the younger attendees - Venus has to dig her nail into Tig’s ear to keep him seated where he’s supposed to be. And despite his curiosity to experience some of the tantalizing dares that some of the girls were participating in, Juice remains on the floor by Gemma’s feet like some sort of lapdog. Or guard dog. Or _both_ , actually.

Speaking of which, Gemma seems to be having a well enough time. Either she and Nero have reconciled, or they don’t want anyone to see the tears in their relationship, but she’s all cuddled up to her boyfriend like a lovesick puppy. One perfectly painted hand splays out on his chest, the other rests comfortably on his knee. Nero’s left arm drapes loosely around her shoulders and his right hand plays in the locks of her hair - it seems to be subconsciously, considering the way he holds a conversation as if it weren’t happening, and she stares numbly off into the distanct.

Although occasionally, she’ll tilt her head up and press a small kiss against his jaw. That must mean something important, because every time she does, he’ll lean down and peck her lightly on the lips before pressing his lips against her forehead.

Around the fifth or sixth time it happens, Jax lets out a little groan. He’s more than inebriated and he’s still more than a little angry about the Abel and Thomas shit. But somehow, _miraculously_ , they’re saved by the bell. Gemma jumps to her feet, tearing away from Nero for the first time since the party started, and hurrying off to get the door.

Tara doesn’t bother nudging Jax - he’s like a child when drunk, so she distracts him with something else to put in his mouth and follows Nero to the door.

They’re surprised to see Clay standing in the doorway - looking like a small, discarded puppy. They’re also _equally_ surprised to see Gemma’s hands pressed against his chest, murmuring something fast under her breath that only he can hear. His eyes are clouded over and-

“He’s drunk,” Nero exhales. “and she thinks it’s her fault.”

He doesn’t offer any more explanation because they’ve reached the door. Instinctively, Nero reaches out and grabs Gemma around the waist - pulling her into his chest and glaring hard at the other man. Gemma’s eyes widen briefly and she turns her back to Clay, pushing Nero back towards the party.

“Baby, go, okay? I got it. I got it,” she whispers. “He’s not-”

“Oh go on, you two!” Clay spits from his spot not a couple feet away from them. He’s a little bit more than drunk, but it still kind of hurts him to see them so in love, whereas she’d been his wife and she’d been in love with him a little more than six months ago. “Get a _room_ , we know you’ve been waiting to do it for _weeks_! You might wanna get her a lil’ drunk though, Nero. Gemma’s always been too much of a _fighter_.”

Nero and Gemma glance back at him simultaneously, but neither move an inch from their spot. Tara stares at the three of them - guarded and more than a little confused. She has a gun in her waistband - like she’s sure Nero and Gemma do too - and if Clay does anything, she’s not afraid to use it but… but this man had been her father once upon a time and now he looks like a poor little shell of a human being. She doesn’t think he came looking for a fight. Or at least, a fight that could get him killed.

Gemma grits her teeth and turns back to Clay, and there’s a storm on her face that tells Tara that’s maybe not such a good idea. She lurches for the other woman, but Nero pulls her back and pushes her towards the party.

“Tara…” he warns, his voice way too low and his eyes way too scared. “Just go. Check on the boys. And your husband. Go on. Go back to the party.”

“But-”

“ _Go_.”

She splutters, but now Gemma’s pushing Clay back out of the doorway, towards the lawn and there’s the fury of a thousand warriors in her eyes and honestly, this is _way_ too much for one night. So Tara does as told - she turns on her heel and marches back to the party. Tells everyone it was a Jehovah’s Witness and spreads the saucy rumor that Nero and Gemma went to find some alone time.

Someone makes a raunchy joke about their kink being nuns and the party resumes like nothing’s happened.

Tara places her hand on Jax’s knee, her own little ‘red light’ for him. She hadn’t touched him all night - she hopes that the action will bring him out of his haziness. He’d been laughing at something Tig said, but when she touches him, his smile falters and then falls. She gives him a small smile of her own and rests her head on her shoulder. He wraps his arm around her and presses his lips into her hair - suffers the catcalls and the threat that he’s starting to be as bad and Tig and Venus. Both of which huff indignantly and open an assault of pretzels on the boys teasing them.

It feels like hours until the ‘Couple of Honor’ return to their spot. But when they do - both unharmed and both looking perfectly fine, if not a bit like teenagers with their hands down each other’s pants to the rest of them - Tara gives Nero an inquisitory raised eyebrow.

He doesn’t do anything that could be translated as a reply - just pulls Gemma tighter into his side and tries not to look too much like a wounded animal.

“Hey, Gem, truth or dare?” one of the girls ask, looking up from what had been a private little game between only those that wanted to get involved.

“Fuck off, sweetheart.”

The blonde is either really stupid or really drunk, because she giggles as if it's just Gemma being Gemma and not a serious threat for her to back down.

“Okay, truth. What’re your kinks?”

Gemma sits up in the couch and leans towards the blonde asker. Tara scrapes her brain to remember her name, but comes up empty. There were just so many of them sometimes, she didn’t know how Gemma kept up with it.

The older woman opens her mouth to say something, but then stops short.

Tara sees the hit before Gemma's hand comes in contact with the pretty girl's face. Both Nero and Tig lunge for Gemma - Nero grabbing her around the waist and Tig planting himself between her and the bimbo so that she couldn't inflict any real damage. They didn't need an 'Emma Jean' repeat, and they certainly didn't need Gemma doing anything stupid while knocked up.

Nero manages her drag her far away enough from the girl so that she can't lunge for another hit, and the fury is evident on Gemma’s face as she pulls away from Nero and storms upstairs to their bedroom. The loud slamming of the door silents the entire party completely - the music dies down and eventually fades out. The blonde one stares after Gemma in fear and hurt - clutching an already reddening bruise on her right cheek - before shaking her head and looking down into her lap. Probably to try and hide her tears.

The slam of the door indicates what everyone already knows - the party is over, everyone go home.

Thus ending the grand homecoming of Gemma Teller.


	10. Crave You

Once everyone has gone home and Nero has cleaned up the downstairs area, he makes his way up the stairs to the bedroom he would share with Gemma. He’s already prepared himself for glass shattering and a screaming match, already put together what he would say - _“I’m sorry Clay and Natalie ruined our night and I’m sorry these past few weeks have put error in our relationship but I love you and I need you and I seem to be addicted to being addicted because I’m addicted to you.”_

Or something like that.

She’s standing at the dresser when he slips in - brushing her hair and staring blankly at her reflection. He can’t see her expression clearly from his position by the door, but he’s pretty sure that if could, it would just break his heart. She had a habit of doing that - breaking his heart with expressions, or lack thereof. Her fist is wound tightly around the hairbrush and she’s yanking hard at the tangles in her hair - as if causing herself some physical pain would ease the emotional pain in her chest. And there’s just something about the heavy silence that blankets the bedroom that tells Nero getting through to her won’t be easy and most likely, it’ll end in a fight.

Nero sheds his sweater and tosses it onto a chair. He moves deeper into the bedroom, finally getting a glance of her face in the mirror. Her eyes flit to him briefly before she drops her head so that her hair curtains her face, and he can’t help but stare at the few tendrils hanging from her back. Her vicious brushing slows down, but doesn’t come to a completely stop.

“Is Natalie okay?” she asks after a bit, her voice hard despite the concern laced in with it. She doesn’t turn away from the mirror, but her hand stills completely. Nero shrugs and slips his watch off of his wrist, allowing it to clatter next to her earrings and bracelets.

“She left with her tail between her legs, but she’ll be alright,” he laments, choosing his words carefully. He doesn’t tell her about the ugly bruise covering half of the girl’s face, or about how she won’t be able to work for a few weeks while it clears up. He knows she’d want to know, but he doesn’t have the heart to make things worse for her. Or give her more ammunition to beat herself up over it.

Gemma nods her head and sets the brush down. She grips the edge of the dresser so tightly that her knuckles whiten and finally turns away from the mirror. Nero waits patiently, and eventually she lifts her head and to look at him. Her hazel eyes are rimmed with red, and her nose is a matching shade. Her lips are red and bruised - probably from worrying them between her teeth. She looks a goddamned mess, and he can’t help but wonder if her insides match the outsides.

“You wanna talk about what happened out there? Or just… in general?” Nero asks tentatively, settling on the edge of his side of the bed. He twists so he can look at her as he strips of his shirt, but she turns her back on him again.

“No,” she admits to the glass of the mirror. “I really fucking don’t.”

“I hate to break it to you, but you don’t have a choice, mama,” he says gently. “We’re done bottling shit up and burying it deep. We’re gonna talk.”

Gemma turns then, staring at him with those sad reddened eyes of hers. Nero stares back just as hard, crossing his arms over his chest and raising an expectant eyebrow. There was no way she was going to guilt-trip him into backing down from a fight like this - and as much as he wants to let her go to bed and sleep it off, there’s no way in hell she’s going to be this vulnerable in the morning.

She presses the small of her back against the dresser and - when the stare-down becomes too much for her - bows her head. He watches her as she inhales with a small shudder to her breath and pushes off of the dresser - climbing into the bed opposite of him.

Nero watches her for a bit as she plays with her hands in his lap, but after awhile he clears his throat and nudges her.

“You gotta talk about it, mama,” he whispers, when she remains silent for a beat too long. “It’s okay not to be strong for a while. It’s okay.”

“I’m so scared,” she admits, her voice small and frail. He’s seen her weak before but never this much so and it hurts him to hear her so vulnerable. Nero forgets sometimes that she’s not always the sarcastic tough ass that she needs to be - that she’s a human with human emotions. It’s a little off-putting, considering that he’s in love with this woman. “There’s too much shit and it’s…”

“I know you are, baby. You’ve been through a _lot_ of shit in one lifetime - more shit than anyone woman should be forced to suffer. It’s _alright_ to be scared,” Nero soothes, trying his best to sound like the strong one for her. “but you can’t bottle it up. Talk to me about what happened.”

“Where do I even begin?” her voice is cynical, and Nero winces. He _never_ wanted any of this for her, all he ever wanted was for her to be happy and safe. And it seemed the more he tried to get her away from it, the closer she got. She was almost _killed_ for fuck’s sake! He couldn’t even keep her out of harm’s way long enough to get away from this shit - he and the Club kept pushing her in the direction of danger and because of it, everything this woman had built herself to be was falling apart.

“Start with the shooting, maybe.”

“There’s nothing to say there, Nero, and you know it. I was going to do something terrible to Tara and karma bit me in the ass before I could. That’s all that any of this shit is - years and years of being a cold-hearted bitch are coming back around to slap me in the face and it’s… fuck.”

Gemma presses the back of her hand against her nose and bows her head again. Nero reaches up to rests his hand on her shoulder and gives it a gentle squeeze. Using her free hand, she squeezes his hand with hers.

“It’s okay, baby. None of this is your fault, stop blaming yourself,” he instructs. “This… this falls on me and Jax and the goddamned Club. We were stirring up shit we didn’t need to prod around in, and… then afterwards… when I didn’t… I’m sorry, Gemma. About everything that I’ve done or haven’t done these past few weeks. I’m so sorry, baby.”

Gemma turns then, her eyes still shining with tears. Tearing her hand away from his, she cups his face with hers and runs her thumb over his cheek. Nero turns his head to press his lips against her palm and stares at her with hope in his eyes.

 _We’ll be okay,_ he wants to say. But by now, he’s learned not to make promises he’s not sure he could keep.


	11. Take Me To Church

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a bit of a longer chapter, although I don't think it's terribly long.

The days spent with Nero ‘recovering’ are too short for Gemma’s tastes. She gives herself a week before she goes back to working with T-M - just enough time to smooth things over with Nero completely and actually let her stitches do some more healing. They spend one day in bed talking - about what happened with Tara while she was out, about what she’d missed while she’d been in the hospital, and about the inevitable revenge the Sons are gonna try to take out on who they suspect hurt her. They quickly change that topic, an unsaid agreement that they want _nothing_ to do with that. There’s too much ache lying beneath that discussion.

One morning he asks the question she’d been dreading answering.

“So what’re we going to do? I mean, if it lives? Adoption?” he asks quietly, looking up from the dishes he’s elbow deep in. Gemma shakes her head, drops more coffee cups into the sink. If by some _god-given miracle_ , the child inside of her managed to live, she definitely wouldn’t give it up. She knew abandonment _all_ too well, and knew the deep aching ‘why don’t they want me' feeling that came with it. She wasn’t going to be the one doing the abandoning - and she especially wasn’t going to inflict that onto an innocent child.

She just didn’t want any false hopes until she was a hundred percent positive things would be okay.

“We’ll keep it, of course. You just have to understand Nero - I’ve already lost a lot of shit. I don’t want to get too attached until then. I’d just like to pretend it isn’t there until I can for sure say it is.”

“But after it’s born… won’t it have the same defect as Jax and Tommy? I mean, getting attached will do nothing-”

“That much is on _me_ ,” Gemma breathes sharply, slamming down a coffee cup with just a bit too much force. The family defect fell on _her_ shoulders - no one had fucked with the hearts of her family except for her… _ironically_. If the child lived to experience the defect, she’d never leave it’s side. She owed it that much, at this point. “After the baby’s born _I’ll_ be there for it, just like I was there for Jackson and Thomas. Nero, I _know_ you’re excited… but let me do this my way, alright? I haven’t had an actual _child_ in fourteen years - more considering Jax grew up faster than I would’ve liked. This is… this opening up a lot of stitched over wounds.”

“Alright. _Alright_ , mama. If that’s what you want,” he concedes. They work in a bit of a silence - Gemma rinsing, drying and putting the dishes away while he washes - before Nero turns and kisses her, hard and fast. Gemma doesn’t even think - she reflexively kisses him back, runs her tongue over his bottom lip in a plea for opening. The plate in her hand slips and falls back into the sink with a clatter, but they pay no mind to it. He pushes at her shoulder with sud covered hands so that her back is completely against the sink and covers her body with his.

They do nothing but kiss for awhile, until Nero he pulls away for air. When he looks at her, he’s smiling so wide that he looks like a cheshire cat. Gemma presses her forehead against his and smiles right along with him.

“Remember when I said my tubes were tied?”

“Mhm?”

“And then weeks later I said they were tired?”

“Yup. Right after an interrupted orgasm that I _still_ owe you,” he murmurs.

“I went with Clay to get them tied when I was in my thirties. ‘Cause I was tired of getting pregnant and he was tired of driving me to the clinic. I’m not _supposed_ to be pregnant. Tied tubes. _Menopause_. This kid has absolute _shit_ going for it,” she laughs sardonically. Nero rolls his eyes and buries his nose into the crook of her neck. His shoulder shakes with laughter and even though it’s a really shitty situation, it’s better than nothing. There will be no light at the end of the tunnel with this situation, so they might as well find something.

“That’s how I know he’ll make it,” he whispers into her skin. “He’s got your blood in ‘em.”

**_*--.--*_ **

The day that Gemma actually returns to Teller-Morrow, she finds herself in a whirlwind of hugs and laughter. She’d dropped off the face of the Earth for a couple of weeks, so they’re excited to find that she’s alive and well. It seems like the greetings are endless, and she’s being pulled in twenty different directions by twice the amount of members. They don’t even allow her to go back to work like she’d planned on doing - she’s only allowed to check on Chuck for a minute, and that’s just to say hello - and instead, she winds up being dragged back to the Club.

The ‘Natalie incident’ has either been entirely forgotten or they just really don’t care.

At first, she thinks it’s just the excitement of having her back. But as the ‘drinks’ - which, for her, are just multiple sprites disguised as Ciroc and sprite - go on and the sun begins to sets, she can see the shadows beginning to approach their faces. They dragged her here for a reason - and it wasn’t to have drinks and prod her about her boyfriend _better-turn-husband-if-he-has-good-sense_.

Just as expected, Jax strolls in at approximately seven-thirty. Gemma watches him over her glass. He greets Chuck - who, after closing down TM, simply migrates to the Clubhouse to do work there - and plays a round of pool with a couple of desperate croweaters that still don’t believe it’ll last between him and Tara. Then, at eight, he turns towards the bar and calls a club meeting.

Sensing an oncoming storm, Gemma stands to leave. She had to get home anyways - Lucius liked better when she read bedtime stories than when Nero did. But Bobby’s hand wraps around her wrist and she’s guided towards Church as well.

“What’s goin’ on?” Gemma asks. “I’m not a member.”

“Aye, you say that like we don’t know,” Chibs agrees. She snorts in return - point taken. “but you might want to be there for this meetin’.” Gemma doesn’t put up anymore of a fight after that - if the President decided that an outsider sat in on a meeting, even if it was his mother, that outsider didn’t argue. It was technically considered an honor unless it was some sort of allied crew or shit.

She dumps her phone in the basket like the rest of them before finding standing at the back of the room. _Guest of Honor_ or not, she still wasn’t allowed to sit at the table. Besides - she didn’t feel much like sitting.

“Gem, in your condition-” Bobby begins slowly, but she turns a set of eyes on him that makes him shudder before rolling them.

“Fuck off about my condition. I just had eight alcoholic drinks and now you wanna act like I’m pregnant?”

“Point.” He mouths a quick ‘Sorry Jax’ in the direction of her son before taking his designated seat.

Jax calls the meeting to order quickly after that, and they blow through trivial subjects - it doesn’t seem like Church worthy topics, but Gemma knows better than to put in her two cents. Finally, the room becomes blanketed in an odd tension as Jax sits up in his chair.

“Now,” he says, looking around the room. “we have a bigger problem. One of our _largest_. You all know the story - some yellow and brown entered my home, shot my mother and would’ve killed my wife. They killed a son and injured another.”

“Who?” Gemma blurts. She hadn’t been told of anyone else being attacked - as far as she knew, it’d just been her and Tara. She makes a mental headcount of the room - everyone that was _supposed_ to be there, _was_ there. And they were all - miraculously, considering the amount time she’d been gone - in one piece. _So who was missing? And who was hurt? Lyla? An old lady? A sweet butt, fuck heavens?_

Everyone’s eyes flit to her stomach briefly and she fights the heat that rises in her face. _Of course._ Any President’s relative would automatically be under the protection of the sons until they were old enough to decide otherwise. That included siblings - born or unborn, half blooded or full. Her kid was already a Son and he was barely the size of a goddamned jelly bean.

Gemma crosses her arms over her chest and glares hard at the other men in the room. Immediately, they’re looking everywhere _except_ for at her. Fucking _idiots_.

“Anyways,” Jax continues, after clearing his throat. “we need to find out who did this and bring them to justice. Maybe a taste of their own medicine will do ‘em good.”

The way he speaks is cold and calculated, and Gemma almost doesn’t recognize him as the same little boy who used to wear braces in the fourth and fifth grade. But then she does and she realizes that Jax is one hundred percent serious. And despite how _pissed_ she is at the bastards who hurt her and the two - one - kids that were inside of her, she wouldn’t dare put that on another woman.

“Jax, honey,” Gemma says, interrupting his speech about ‘revenge’ and ‘blood for blood’. He stops mid-sentence and stares at her like she’s lost her mind. “I appreciate what you’re trying to do here - keeping me involved so that I don’t feel as if you’re going behind my back, keeping me in the loop of your plans. And trying to avenge that kid that was inside of me. That’s sweet, baby. It is and I love you for it. But… I think it’s best if we just let this one go.”

“Nah, Gemma,” It’s Tig speaking this time, and there’s a fire in his tone that tells her he’s not her playful, sweet little Tiggy at the moment. “No. They _hurt_ you. They hurt the kids _inside_ of you. And that’s not somethin’ that we can just let them get away with.”

There’s a murmuring of agreements from around the table and Gemma squeezes her eyes shut against the sound. She was getting dizzy and the alcohol - even if she hadn’t had any, that’s what she was blaming it on - was making her drowsy. All she wanted was to go home and rest.

“Don’t do that,” she snarls at him. “Don’t pretend like it even matters. It’s dead. It doesn’t even have a fucking name. Or a gender, for that matter, for me to name it. It actually… was kind of not even a big deal, if we think about the grand scheme of things. And this one? In case anyone neglects to understand or notice… I’m 56 years old, with tied tubes, gone through menopause and had a bullet pass through my stomach. It’s not gonna make it either. I’m _begging_ you - fucking seriously, if I have to. Just let this one _go_. I don’t need more death and law knocking on my front door. Leave it alone, boys.”

“And if we don’t?” Jax asks. He was going to push it. She should’ve known better that heartfelt ‘Please, no more blood’ wouldn’t make them back off. They _lived_ for blood.

“Then you can just consider yourself an orphan. You’re not gonna listen - fine, Jax. You’re not twelve. I’m not going to ground you and tell you no more nintendo,” Gemma says coldly.

She doesn’t really _mean_ it - Jax could trigger the end of the world and she’d still go to hell and back for him. But there’s something she needs to get through his thick skull and playing Mommy Dearest isn’t going to do that. Jax knew Gemma as the mother that looked after him and did anything he told - _asked_ her  - her to do. He didn’t know her so much as the cold hearted bitch that ruined lives for fun - she only let him hear wisps of stories on that shit. But if he was going to go against her wishes, then he’d have to think he was going to experience it first hand.

She and Jax remain in a staring contest as he rules the ‘incident’ be squashed and forgotten about. There are groans around the table, but he bangs the gavel and makes the ruling final. Gemma smiles at her son and brother before turning on her heel and pushing open the doors to the Church. She only briefly pauses to dig her phone out of the basket.

There are four missed calls from Nero and two texts - both of which she swiftly replies to with _‘Be home soon. Explain everything. Love you.’_

She’s about to leave the Clubhouse when someone wraps their arm around her bicep.

“Get off of me!” Gemma snaps, yanking her arm free of the person’s grip. She expects it to be Tig or Jax, but it’s actually Chibs.

“You’ve been drinkin’, lass. Let me drive ye home, eh?” he suggests. Gemma looks over his shoulder at the rest of the Club members - Tig’s pushed himself up against some redheaded babe wearing only a pair of blue jean shorts and Jax has disappeared into his dorm. It’s safe to say that neither of them put him up to this.

They both know she hasn’t been drinking, but she nods her head anyways and presses her keys into Chibs hand. He must want to talk her about something - although, he needs better excuses than that. He calls back to the others that he’s taking her home - even if they’re too distracted to really take note. The only one that does - Half-Sack - is tasked with following behind in a pick-up and driving him back to the Clubhouse.

Chibs guides her outside to the Cadillac and helps her in - keeps mumbling something about a ‘woman in her condition’. Had it been anyone else, she would’ve punched them in the balls. But Chibs has his heart in the right place and she really doesn’t have the same heart or the energy to argue with him, so she lets him be… well, Chibs.

They spend the drive mostly making small talk - Chibs tells her about the woman he’s been talking to and in turn, Gemma lets out little details about Nero. It’s comfortable, but they’re both waiting for the other shoe to drop. And it does - about four blocks away from the house.

“Nero treats you right?”

“He does. He really is a sweetheart,” Gemma replies. Chibs nods and pulls the car to a stop at the stoplight.

“Mhm. And he cares about you?”

“Well, it’s been a good few months. I’d _hope_ so.”

“And the wee one?” Chibs asks, and gestures to her stomach. He presses the gas again and Gemma turns away from him. Of course he’d bring up the baby - she really can’t be mad at him, he doesn’t know about her decision of detachment. Even despite her little outburst in Church.

“He loves the kid, even if it’s not really a kid yet. He doesn’t think I know, but he has a journal where he writes down his favorite baby names and… things to do when he’s a father again. He hasn’t had a baby in a while.” Gemma catches herself rambling and closes her mouth - Chibs was Jax’s VP and she didn’t need him running back and spilling all of Nero’s secrets to her son. That last thing she needed was to show her son one of Nero’s weaknesses when he was stewing in his frustration.

“Well, from what I gather - you two _really_ love each other. And he _really_ loves your little bun in the oven. So, if I ask him, will he say the same thing that you did? That he doesn’t want to right what’s been wronged?” Chibs speaks slowly - as if at any moment, Gemma could detonate. Like earlier - she knows his heart is in the right place and she knows that he’s just trying to help. But unless he were in her and Nero’s shoes, he wouldn’t understand.

“Chibs…” Gemma begins, but the man shakes his head.

“Nah, Gem. We gotta fix this - you know we do. Whether we do it as a family, or whether we do it as a group of barbarian killers. And whether or not you like it. _And_ I have a feeling that Nero’s going to want a piece of that revenge. When - not _if_ \- we do it, I want you on our side.”

Chibs comes to a stop in front of her house, and when they get out, she’s surprised to see that he does too. He makes sure she’s safely inside - even shakes Nero’s hand - before returning her keys and sidling up to the pick-up. Before Chibs enters the ride, he turns around and tilts his head. _Think about it, Gemma._

“What was _that_ about?”

“I had one too many to drink and he tried to take advantage of me,” Gemma mutters. Nero snorts.

“You’re not supposed to drink when you’re pregnant.”

“Wow, what a _loving_ boyfriend.”

“Love you too, _hermosa_.”


	12. Teen Angst

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Filler chapter because I have the story rated mature (or explicit, I don't remember) and there's yet to be anything mature or explicit in it.

Two months following Gemma’s attack, she starts to feel things fall into place again. Unfortunately, that means things go back to how they were before the incident. Tara becomes wary of her once more - her presence around the Clubhouse and Teller-Morrow begins to thin, and she only agrees to seeing Gemma if Nero is around. Even after Gemma begs her to hold a conversation with her - begs _her_ for advice for once in their lives. And if that’s not bad enough, Jax and the rest of the club have decided that they’ve waited too long to exact their revenge and they’re stirring up trouble. Every other day, Gemma’s being interrogated on _that_ day. _What were they wearing? Could you see their skin color? Any other races other than yellow and brown?_

She wants to tell them to go fuck themselves but this isn’t about information. This is about Jax making sure she’s on his side - or rubbing it in that it’s going down whether or not she is. She hasn’t figured that one out yet.

And the strains on Nero and Gemma’s relationship are back as well. He still wants to pack everything up, buy his farm, and take her away. He’s still pushing to get out of Charming - he’s even pulled a stunt by checking Lucius out of his home and bringing him back to the house. Gemma doesn’t mind of course - she loves Lucius as much as she loves Jax. He’s a good kid - a smart one too, with a tongue sharp as a blade. What she _does_ mind is Nero putting the boy up to asking her questions. Always asking her things about animals, and if she’d ever own a farm, and why wouldn’t she let his papa take them away. She always smiles and shakes her head for Lucius, then grits her teeth once her back is turned but she never approaches Nero about it. She knows he’s just trying to help _and_ she knows he just wants the best for her. For all of them in their little war-torn family.

Besides, Gemma is finding herself revelling in being a mother again. She knows there’s no hope for the kid inside of her, but Lucius is alive and he’s a good kid.

One night, after dinner, Gemma finds herself doing something she hasn’t done for years. She’s reading to a child that she could actually call her own.

Lucius is snuggled into Jax’s old bedroom. The room had already been set up for a boy and the things that boys his age might like like - it’d been a little unfair to make him sleep in the guest room.

He’s curled on side with his arm cushioned beneath his head. The blankets fall around his chest, so for a second she forgets that his spine is screwed to hell and he looks like a normal kid. In fact, he looks a bit like Thomas did at his age - intent, hanging onto every word that leaves her mouth despite the fact that his eyes are drooping. Thomas used to be stubborn at bedtime too.

Of course, she blinks rapidly and pushes that thought away.

Her voice seems far away as she reads to Lucius, but his soft snores are loud in her ears. Eventually, Gemma sets the book down on his nightstand and tucks the sheets around him. When she stands and turns around, she finds Nero leaning in the doorway, grinning at her.

“That was cute.”

“He snores like his father. No DNA test needed there,” she retorts. Nero clasps his heart and feigns pain.

“Ouch, _hermosa_. That really hurt me. Hurt my _insides_.” Gemma snorts as she leaves Lucius’ room - waits until the door is firmly closed behind her before pushing Nero against the wall opposite of the bedroom. It doesn’t take long for his sweater and his white beater to be on the floor.

“Oh, really? Let me fix it.”

“I would love to, hermosa,” Nero replies, pushing her away when he’s gotten enough resolve. “but we haven’t gone a night without fucking since Lucius came home. Wanna tell me why?”

Gemma shrugs and sighs before running a hand through the black and blonde tendrils that flow so freely down her back. Nero notices something on her face - something like conflict - and braces himself for the worse.

“Bedroom,” she says, taking his hand. If her voice had been any different, he would protest. Tell her to talk to him instead of fucking out her frustrations. But there’s something about the tone that tells him it’s more than what she thinks she’s suggesting. He picks up his shirt and sweater and allows her to pull him towards the bedroom. Once the door is locked, Gemma pushes him onto the bed and straddles his lap.

“I didn’t want to wake Lucius, and I knew that in about ten minutes or so, we’re going to be screaming. Now whether that be from emotional pain or physical pleasure, is up to you,” she explains all of this with a hush to her voice. “I’m going to say all of this once and I swear to god, if you interrupt me, you won’t bust your nut for another six months. Or at least, you won’t do it with me.”

Nero nods his assent as Gemma leans back and away from him. She takes several moments to gather herself and her thoughts before swinging her legs over him and settling down in the sheets next to him.

“With Lucius around the house and me carrying a baby that we don’t know is even going to _live_ \- remember my threat, Nero,” she reminds calmly, when he opens his mouth to protest. He recalls the term ‘ _pussywhipped_ ’ as he slowly closes his mouth again. “I think it’s fair to say that very soon, things between us in the bedroom… they’re going to dry up. We have kids in the house again - which means we’re both double the busy. Which also means we’ll rarely have time for ourselves.”

“Even if we discount the baby and Lucius - I’m getting older and I don’t have many years on me. Soon enough, you’re not gonna want to touch me. Not to mention all the fuckin’ fighting we’ve been doing over this whole moving away thing must be one hell of a turn off. Speaking of which, you _will_ stop sending Lucius to guilt-trip me. Understood?”

Nero looks at her and quirks an eyebrow. She rolls her eyes before exhaling sharply, annoyance dripping from her every being.

“You can speak now. I told you not to interrupt me, but you’re obviously not interrupting if it’s your turn.”

“I haven’t been sending Lucius,” he growls, hurt that she would think he would do something like that. Gemma stills and tilts her head at him, her expression incredulous. “I haven’t been sending Lucius to do anything. In fact, I told him to stay out of it, mama. I’d go low, but not that low.”

“What?”

“Lucius told me he was gonna try and convince you to leave with us before the end of this year. _I_ told him to back off. It’s adult business and he’s a child. But, apparently, my son doesn’t seem to know what the word ‘no’ means. Look, I’m sorry, Gemma, but none of the conversations you’ve had with Lucius have come from my mouth. That’s all him. I told you, my kid is smart.”

“Huh. That little _shit_.”

“I repeat - my kid is smart. _My kid._ Still my child.”

“Sorry, baby,” Gemma mutters.

“As for that other shit, Gem - that’s for us to work on. But having kids in the house and our disagreements aren’t going to turn me off from you. You’re a beautiful, classy woman in the daytime and sexy as all get out at night. I love both versions of you and both versions get me hot. I was a little worried that you sleeping me every night was a prelude to you leaving me - not some petty insecurities. I love being with you, Gemma - coming home to you and Lucius… that’s the highlight of my day. And I love sleeping with you too. I don’t think any sane man with genitals in his pants can be turned off when it comes to you - _ever_.”

He punctuates his speech with a delicate kiss to her lips and by pulling her back into his lap. Although, considering their current position, the kiss soon goes from delicate to passionate.

She presses against him so that he falls back in the bed and goes back to her work. Nero groans again as Gemma goes back to her - what he likes to call in the confines of his head - possessive kissing. His lips are left bruised and swollen, and when she’s satisfied with her work there, she sets to making his neck look the same way.

“Jesus, mama,” Nero moans. Gemma - he had come to found out - was a goddess in the bedroom. She had a way of multitasking that no other woman that he’d ever slept with managed to accomplish. One of her hands slip into his pants to work his cock - her thumb occasionally running over his tip, her hand stroking the entirety of his shaft and then stopping to massage his eager balls. The other hand has other ideas - deep within her own underwear, where he knows she’s playing with herself. It’s all so hot and it all makes him entirely too guilty.

He waits until she gets a bit distracted to flip them over, and once Nero’s in charge, things change immediately.

“I hate it when you’re such a fuckin’ _tease_ , Gem.”

Two rooms down, Lucius tries very, _very_ hard not to laugh too loud.


	13. Bird on a Wire

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The plot thickens >:}

Jax settles into the Presidential seat at the table, an unlit cigarette settled between his lips. It’s early in the morning - too early for the smokers, drinkers, and partiers of the previous night. They won’t be up until long after noon, and his mother won’t come over until she’s sure Nero and his son will be alright and T-M is doing fine with the Prospects. And so, the table is empty except for him, and it gives him the perfect setting to think. At the head of his seat, but without anyone chipping in their opinions and ruining his train of thought.

He had to figure out something to do about Gemma. All he had to do was get Nero on board with taking care of the assholes that tried to kill her and Tara. Once Nero and his crew were with him, Gemma wouldn’t have much of a say whether or not they went after the dickwads. Once another crew got involved, it wasn’t _personal_ anymore. It was _club_ business, and she had to step out of it. _Especially_ if she was the leader of the other crews old lady. Remembering her place and all that shit.

He just needed to get Nero, and then find out who did it. Getting Nero would be the hard part - he’s got no doubt she’s already ran off and told him about what happened. But a little bit of nudging in the right direction couldn’t possibly hurt… And that’d take care of all his other problems too - wiping out two enemy crews would bring in more business for the Sons and show the other crews that they weren’t a bunch of old men, hobbling around anymore. They were young and sprung and taking back their title as the most _vicious_ gang in America.

Jax’s hand comes up to cup the flame he uses to light his cigarette.

No one walked over the Sons and walked out alive.

* * *

 

“Damn car…” Clay mutters to himself, shifting in the lumpy car seat to get comfortable. He moves around until he finds a comfortable position, and then sighs in relief. Stake-outs were a hundred percent more difficult when he had to do them in tacky rental cars.

Speaking of stake-out, Clay leans back a little in his seat when he sees Gemma and Nero exit the house. Nero is muttering something to some kid in a wheelchair and Gemma seems to be bouncing on the balls of her feet. Eventually, the man turns and smiles warmly at her and says something to make her stop fidgeting.

Clay doesn’t miss the way her cheeks tinge red a little and she subconsciously fixes her hair. A thing she used to do around him when he said something extra raunchy about her ass in a particular pair of jeans or the way a shirt made him want to…

The thought trails off immediately because something in his pants twitches and he didn’t come here to get his rocks off. He came here to gather information.

As soon as the makeshift ‘family’ has driven away, Clay revs the engine of the car and begins to follow them. He knows that both Gemma and Nero know how to spot a tail, so he makes sure that he keeps a good distance. Besides, Nero’s baby blue low rider wasn’t that hard to find - he could lose them completely and find them again easily.

He stops when they do - pulling into a park. He parks across the street from the playground and watches as the make-shift family climb out of the car. Nero goes to wrestle with the child and his wheelchair and Gemma goes to set up at one of the benches close to the playground.

Clay shakes his head. He didn’t _want_ to do this. He would much rather be hanging in the woods somewhere, with itchy rope strong tight around his neck. He was being forced to do this - by some shitty Underground crew that threatened not only Gemma’s life, but his family’s. They were trying to climb ranks and what better than to have the man closest to SAMCRO do their dirty work of pissing on it? He wanted nothing more than to tell those young idiots to fuck off - they didn’t know what they were getting into, they didn’t know what was brewing for them. But he doesn’t. He knows they’ll kill him and Gemma if he shows signs of incooperation.

And he won’t leave Charming until he’s sure that she’s safe.

* * *

 

Nero leans forward in his bench, watching Gemma and Lucius take turns discreetly shooting the other kids on the playground. They’d been playing this game for an hour - to see how many toddlers they could shoot in the back with the water gun before a parent _actually_ noticed. Lucius apparently had the highest score, but from the arguing and laughter beside him, Nero’s gathered that Gemma’s not too far behind in the game and that she’s steadily catching up.

“Your phone’s ringing,” Gemma points out, taking him away from his sons expert aim. That kid would get up to nothing but no good with that eyesight.

“Take it for me,” Nero replies. Ever since their little not-quite argument over Gemma’s insecurities, he’d been trying to prove to her that she’s the only one for him and that he wouldn’t be going anywhere, anytime soon. And he can tell that letting her take his phone calls is something big for her - even if she doesn’t show it - by the way she hesitates before answering.

“It’s Jax,” she says eventually, snapping the phone closed. “He says he needs you at the Clubhouse.”

“But it’s our day for Lucius,” Nero points out. Gemma’s eyes float over to Lucius, who’s looked up at the sound of his name being mentioned. She frowns at the kid, who mocks her frown in over exaggeration. Nero doesn’t miss the ‘little shit’ she mutters under her breath.

“They’ve finished remodeling the playground near the Clubhouse and T-M. I can hang out with him there, and we could put this water gun to use on those girls there that need a shower. Or I could just _not_ go and I could take him somewhere to eat.” Nero sighs and looks longingly towards his son. They rarely had outings like this, and it was unfair to Lucius who was always either locked up in a room at Diosa or sitting around Gemma’s office.

“Hey, guys, I’m _right_ here. Also, I’m ten-years-old. I can make my _own_ choices.”

“Yeah, and what choices will those be?” Nero asks.

“Well… I know that when Mr. Teller needs either of you guys, it’s important. I’m not dumb, just because I’m a kid. So I’ll go hang out at the Clubhouse and wait with Gemma.”

“You’re too smart, Lucy,” Gemma says, reaching over to ruffle his hair. He hisses at the action and begins to rearrange the locks into the carefully constructed mohawk he had spent two hours turning it into that morning. Nero fights the urge to roll his eyes - if his kid was like this now, what was he looking at for the teenage years?

“Yeah, I know. Smart, handsome, the whole package, just like my papa. Which is why you _love_ him,” Lucius says. He begins to make annoying kissing sounds into the air before wrapping his arms around himself as he pretends to make out with someone else. Both adults wince.

“That’s _your_ fault,” Gemma says in the direction of Nero, standing up. “ _You’re_ the screamer.”

“Will you both, _please_?”

\--

When Nero arrives at the Clubhouse, he takes special care into making sure that Gemma and Lucius will be fine at the playground - and swears to make the entire day up to his son - before heading in. Of course, he winces at the two sweetbutts that join them and allow Lucius to use them as human target practice, but Gemma is there and he knows she wouldn’t trust the girls if she thought they would harm him so he pushes into the Clubhouse. When he enters, he’s greeted by a few flirty croweaters - just trying to find their place in the Clubhouse’s life, no matter with whom - that he politely turns down. He finds Juice waiting for him at the bar, his hand wrapped loosely around a glass and his eyes a bit unfocused.

“Juice?”

“Yeah,” he mutters. His gaze focuses when he sees Nero and he gives a tight-lipped smile. Despite everything, he doesn’t seem to happy to see the other man. “Hey.”

“You good?” Nero asks. Juice snorts and shakes his head. If Nero didn’t know any better, he’d say that the kid was trying to keep from crying.

“No. It doesn’t matter. How’s Gemma?”

“She’s over at the playground with my son. I think you should go say hi,” Nero replies. Juice shakes his head again, but this time it’s in refusal of Nero’s offer.

“We have church in a little while.”

“It wasn’t a request.” Nero keeps his voice low, but he hopes it gets across to Juice what he’s trying to say. He needed to talk to Gemma - for some reason, she was the only person that he’d ever felt safe enough to open up to. And Nero wasn’t going sit around and twiddle his thumbs while Juice sat around and bottled things up. He didn’t need for the kid to go popping more pills, or maybe choosing something more permanent. He had enough _shit_ on his plate.

Besides, Gemma was worrying. And Nero had made a vow to relieve her from enough stress as possible. He had a habit of making vows whenever she was concerned.

Juice looks back at his drink and Nero claps him on the back. That’s when Jax slips out of Church and beckons him in. He rubs his temples a couple of times, downs the rest of Juice’s drink, and heads into the room. The only other man in there besides Jax, is Tig. The others seem to have scattered off somewhere while they wait for a meeting to be called.

“What’s up, _mano_?” Nero asks, shoving his hands in his pockets.

“Sit down,” Tig says. Nero doesn’t ask to be told twice, he obeys his girlfriend’s crazy brother and sits. They all do - sit there in silence, that is. Tig keeps flipping his pocket knife opened and closed, Jax is quietly cleaning his gun. Nero feels as if he should’ve brought something other than the gun strapped to his ankle and the small hunting knife in his pocket.

“Did you call me here to give you advice on cleaning your gun or is something else taking me away from my son?” Nero asks eventually, growing tired of dancing around the other two men. They’d been unstoppable killers ever since Gemma got out of the hospital and on her feet, therefore she’d warned him to tiptoe around them. She had admitted that she was worried for all of her boys’ sanity and Nero had assured her that he was fine, but he wasn’t her only concern. Now, he was sick of playing Mr. Nice Cholo. He was an OG, and eventually, they were going to have to respect that. Why not now?

“We need to talk about what we’re going to do with Gemma. Or rather, the ones who hurt her and your children,” Tig sighs. “She doesn’t want us getting involved. But if another crew is working with us, it isn’t personal business anymore so…”

“Oh. I see. So you’re trying to get the Byz Lats in on it,” Nero nods. _That_ was thin ice. He and Gemma hadn’t _really_ discussed revenge. They’d mostly tiptoed around the subject - a mutual agreement not to say anything about it and not to go kicking the hornet’s nest. He didn’t want it - he just wanted her and his children. That was all. And Gemma - she’d told him about what had happened in Church the other night, but she’d also pointed out she wanted nothing to do with it. She seemed content enough with everything they had at the moment, she didn’t act like she was out for blood. “Well, I’m not going against her wishes. She said she doesn’t want anything to do with this? Then that’s it. She doesn’t want revenge.”

“Yeah, see, that doesn’t fly. We let them walk on us and they’ll do it again, _ese_. That's putting more of our families' lives in danger - and I'd rather we had one old ladies' hurt feelings than a whole massacre. So you’re going to get your crew on this. Or else…” Jax shrugs, stops cleaning his gun and looks Nero in the eye.

“Or else what, Prince Boy? You’re going to kill me? I have a feeling that pinning it on some asshole Mexicans wouldn’t be a good idea.”

“All I have to do, is cry wolf one time. And my mother comes running. _Mama, Nero is no good. He threatened to take you away from me. Mama, we need you. Don’t leave._ Is her house comfortable, Nero? Does your son like his new room?” he asks quietly. Nero locks his jaw. Jax doesn’t need to say the words, they all know what he means. He will agree to whatever Tig and Jax proposed to him. Or else he would lose Gemma entirely.

“Fine. I’ll call my crew over at ten tonight. It’s when Lucius goes to bed - I’m not going to miss reading my child his bedtime stories for you, Jackson Teller,” Nero replies. “I’ll tell Gemma that something came up at Diosa.”

“That’s smart,” Tig agrees. “We’ll see you tonight.”

“Yeah. Give Venus a kiss for me,” Nero shrugs. He stands and leaves the room, not bothering the mask the fury and disgust on his face. He had to lie to Gemma. Not even a week after they promised full discretion, no secrets, everything on the table. And he has to lie to her. He was no better than Clay - lying to Gemma, playing into Jackson’s hand. This shit had to stop.

He sees her by the playground, leaning against the monkey bars. Lucius is on the swings with the sweetbutts and she’s talking to Juice about something. Eventually, the young man cracks a smile and finally laughs. Gemma laughs with him, her hand coming to hold her stomach as she does. They… _she_ was so cute.

Nero makes his way over and Gemma allows him to take her into his arms.

“Hey, baby, how’d it go?” she asks. Her arms are draped over his shoulders, her eyes half-lidded due to the sun. Her lips are pulled up into the smile that she saved only for him, and she’s pressed against him so closely that he feels as if they could meld together. And standing there, staring down at her loving face and her bright smile, Nero realizes that he can’t do it. He can’t lie to her. Anyone else - yes. _Fine_. But her - he can’t.

“We need to talk. But not now. Let’s get our son home,” he says. Gemma’s eyes light up at that - Nero hadn’t yet ventured to call Lucius ‘theirs’ yet, despite the fact that he always called Gemma his mother and all the kids at school knew her as such.

“Yeah. Let’s do that,” she replies, before cupping his face and pressing her lips to his. “Whatever it is, I love you.”

“I love you too, mama.”


	14. Together

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had more editing to do than previously thought because I took out a subplot to the story (it was doing too much)). But I'll try to keep up.

Gemma clasps the warm cup of coffee tightly between her hands and focuses on the bubbles in it. Nero’s hand rests comfortingly on her wrist, but she doesn’t want to think about him right now. Right now, she’s trying to comprehend why Jax would insist on going against her wishes. If she said no more bodies in Charming, she _meant_ it. And if she said she wanted the subject dropped, she meant that too. She could understand him making it less personal and more Club, she could wrap her head around that. If they wanted to go setting fires, by all means. But why would he turn to Nero and _purposely_ drag her into it?

Nero, on the other hand, and is still struggling with himself. He had opted out of telling Gemma about Jax’s threat - he didn’t think that she needed to hear that from him right now. And he’d already called the Byz Lats - he did that while Gemma was helping Lucius with his bath. He couldn’t just _not_ attend that meeting tonight - if they went and he didn’t, they’d think it was a set up by SAMCRO and they’d start a war. He had to leave soon, but he doesn’t want to leave her alone.

“Go,” she says eventually, glancing at the clock. It’s 9:30. “Go to the meeting. Do what you need to do.”

“I don’t want to hurt you,” Nero replies. She looks to him this time, presses the back her hand against his cheek.

“You’re not the one hurting me, baby.” He doesn’t need to know how much it hurts her to say that and he doesn’t need to see the backlash. She needed sometime to herself anyways - she had a lot to figure out. So he presses a kiss to the inside of her hand and holds it briefly before standing.

“If Lucius wakes up-”

“-you’re out getting me some ice cream for my cravings,” she says. Nero smiles gratefully at her as he slips on his sweater, but she can tell by the look on his face that he doesn’t feel comfortable leaving them home alone. “He’s sleep. He’ll be fine. You have business to handle. Your crew needs to know that you’re looking out for them and Jax needs to know that you’re not bullshitting around anymore. You need to go, Nero.”

“I don’t want to leave you home. Not after what happened, not anymore,” he reminds. She nods her head and follows him to the door.

“I know. But everything is locked. Windows, doors. Lights are off. My gun is strapped to my thigh,” she opens her robe briefly to flash the lace panties and white tank top she’d be wearing to bed that night, along with the shiny glock strapped to her inner thigh. Nero fights to urge to call the whole thing off just so he could plow her on the kitchen table. “and I’m going to bed anyways. I need to sleep this off. It’s left a bad taste in my mouth.”

“Will I be allowed to wake you when I come home?” he asks. His arms circle her waist and pull her flush against him. Gemma presses her hands against his chest and there’s a mischievous glint in her eye that gives him the answer to his question before she actually says it.

“Anything you need, baby,” she whispers in reply. Nero grins at her and slams his mouth against hers, making sure to tug at her bottom lip with his teeth when he pulls away. It effectively makes her lips red, and he smirks at his quick handiwork. “You’re stalling.”

“Shh, let me have this moment,” he says. Eventually however, she pulls away and pushes him out the door. Nero gives her one final peck on the lips before turning on his heel and heading onto the sky blue lowrider. She watches him in the door until he pulls away - doesn’t go into the house until his tail lights are nothing but two red dots.

“I love you, baby. Be safe,” she whispers to the wind, before sliding back into the house and locking the doors behind her.

*--.--*

At the Clubhouse, Nero’s crew arrives before he does. When he does arrive however, he stinks of Gemma’s perfume and he sports a pair of red, bruised lips that give away to what had them waiting. There’s something cold in his eyes, and in the way his jaw is set. He doesn’t say a word to anyone - not the croweater that calls for his attention, not the Club members that attempt to ask about Gemma, not members of his own crew that wonder what the hell he needs them for. No one.

Except for the two men that brought him to the Club that night.

Tig and Jax wait in front of the Church doors - arms crossed over their broad chests and the same cold, set look in their eyes. They’re just as set in their ways as he is, but the difference is that Nero is doing this for Gemma. They’re doing it for their own pride and bruised egos.

“To think I thought that we were brothers,” Nero says in the direction of Tig. That seems to stir something in the other man - nights spent plotting Gemma’s grandeur escape, days spent eyeing each other and making sure that their secrets and plans were safely locked away. A few nights spent huddled over Gemma’s sleeping frame, crying and reminiscing on what they could soon lose.

“We still are. We are still in agreement about what we talked about as well,” Tig replies. Nero snorts in response. Yes, he’d get Gemma out of Charming one day. But it would be of no help from Tig Trager. He was done with that man - completely and one hundred percent. The only way he’d ever do anything for Tig again is if Venus asked him to.

“Are we talking business tonight, or are we talking feelings?” Jax asks them both. Nero smirks and pushes past them to open the door to the Church.

“You, me, my crew, your club. We’re talking business. _Vamanos, hermanos_ ,” he calls to the men that had been calmly waiting on his rule. They all nod and follow him inside - ever obedient of Nero, no matter how long it had been since he led with them.

“Good, brother. That’s all I want to talk with you.”

Jax turns to Tig and nods his head. Tig whistles for the rest of the Club to join them in Church, and they all groan as they pull themselves away from the floozies and tramps that had their attention. Tig mutters apologies and promises of more pussy after meeting, and once they’re all in, slams the door shut behind them.

“Nero, we’re here to talk about your crew helping out ours in assisting with hunting down the assholes who hurt someone under the Sons protection,” Jax says, once everyone’s settled. Nero gives a slight bow of his head and Jax clears his throat. The other man's sudden iciness had thrown him off - he had expected Nero to come here, still the same slightly twitchy and on edge guy he’d been since Gemma’s shooting. He hadn’t really been planning on the cold glares, icy demeanor, and distant tones. As if the man hadn’t held him while he’d cried before, or pressed kisses to his forehead as signs of compassion and love.  

“My crew is interested in whatever you have to lay on the table. On one condition - none of what happens, blows back on any of them. Me? That’s perfectly fine. I take full responsibility - especially considering that I don’t know what I may do when I see those _hijos de puta_ eye to eye. But them? They have kids, wives, families. _And_ nothing to do with this. They are all willing to help if you’re willing to guarantee their safety from death or prison. Can you do that, Jackson?”

Jax frowns at the use of his full name and pinches the bridge of his nose. He didn’t need this shit. And if it had just been Nero, he wouldn’t be taking it. But his crew was right there and from what Juice had managed to gather by talking to them in their native tongue - the Puerto Rican from Queens _finally_ learned something useful - they were packing serious heat. He couldn’t afford a shootout in the Clubhouse, especially not in Church. He was just going to have to kick his rocks and deal with it.

“I’m sure that’s something that could be arranged,” he agrees. Nero turns as another crew member whispers something in his ear. Both men exchange back and forth in Spanish for awhile, and the Club members looks to Juice to explain. Instead, he looks to Nero.

“ _¿Qué estás haciendo? Ir en contra de los hijos? ¿Estas loco?_ ”

“ _¿Tu madre nunca te enseñan que el espionaje es grosero?_ ” the other man replies snappily. Juice narrows his eyes.

“ _No la tuya te enseñan que jugar con los hombres blancos con armas de fuego le conseguirá matado? Nero, hablo en serio. Jax y Tig están locos y te matarán. Por favor, por favor, reconsiderar esto._ ”

“ _No me importa si estás conmigo o no. Sólo necesito para mantener la boca cerrada._ ” Nero is staring hard at Juice, his head tilted. He opens his mouth to answer, but Jax slams his hand down on the table in annoyance.

“English, motherfuckers, this is America,” he growls. Nero and the other man who had been whispering both nod.

“Indeed it is,” the other man mutters. Nero turns back to Jax and there seems to be something brewing in his eyes that tells him that this is not a good idea. That he should have left Nero alone and looked for help with the Niners.

“We’re in. We’ll assist in the exaction of your revenging and avenging,” he says. Jax looks around the table - but he doesn’t need to say it. Those in favor of having Nero on their side raise their hand, those that aren’t keep it down. He doesn’t miss how Juice keeps his hand down - tucked firmly in front of him. But he’s outweighed by the numbers - there’s more in favor than out of. So he bangs his gavel and the meeting comes to an end.

“Our deal is set. You don’t suffer the fallback, we make sure your men get out safely and in turn - you make sure that this happens.”

Nero nods, but he’s not looking at Jax. He’s looking through him, at Juice. He tilts his head - the seeming question he’d asked earlier gone unanswered by Jax’s interruption. If he hadn’t have been staring so intently at the man, he would’ve missed it. The ever so slight bow of his head, the way it comes up too.

Jax doesn’t know what Juice says yes to. He hopes it isn’t anything crazy - or anything that could put the club in danger.

\--

There’s a long after party following the deal - Byz Lats and Sons were together, allied crews. Booze, pot and pussy is passed around like toys shared with children and soon the entire thing is in full swing. Nero sticks around for a few beers - for appearances sake - but nothing more. And as expected, the men from his crew with wedding or promise rings do the same. Unlike the Sons, they respected what the vows that they’d made to their partners - despite the sweetbutts crawling all over them, their minds are focused on one woman at home.

Nero sticks around for an hour or two - mostly sticking to his crew and occasionally Juice. But then he mutters something to a couple of folks about having a pregnant woman at home and disappears. As soon as he’s pulled out of the parking lot, Jax rounds on Juice - dragging him back into Church and sitting him down.

There’s fear in the younger man's eyes - after all, Jax was still his President. No matter what he agreed to with Nero, until he blacked out the ink on his arms and back, he was a Son. Therefore, he had to be afraid of the President.

“What’s going on with Nero?” Jax asks immediately. “What’s wrong with him?”

“I’m gonna be honest with you, Jax. He’s angry and he’s guilty. He doesn’t like lying to Gemma and that’s exactly what you’re making him do,” Juice says. “but otherwise, I don’t know.”

“What were you talking about? Earlier?” Juice visibly stiffens at the mention of his and Nero’s exchange. He could tell Jax the truth and sell Nero out. Remain loyal to the only family he’d ever really had. But then that could hurt Gemma - and Juice had to remain loyal to her. He loved her too. More than anything - more than Nero ever could dream about. And all he ever wanted was for her to be happy. And if she was happy with Nero, Juice wouldn’t be the one to take him away from her.

So instead, he shrugs.

“That _vato_ in there? He doesn’t trust you guys. I was quelling his suspicions, and backing Nero up. He speaks highly of you despite everything,” he lies. Guilt hits him like a punch to the gut when Jax gives him a warm smile and claps him on the shoulder.

“Knew I could count on you, brother,” Juice gives a soft nod and Jax grins at him. “Now go enjoy the all-you-can-eat pussy buffet. You’ve earned it.”

Yeah. For some reason - Juice doesn’t think he has.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translations:
> 
> Hijos de puta - Motherfuckers
> 
> ¿Qué estás haciendo? Ir en contra de los hijos? ¿Estas loco? - What are you doing? Going against children (loose translation: the Sons)? Are you crazy?
> 
> ¿Tu madre nunca te enseñan que el espionaje es grosero? - Did your mother ever teach you that eavesdropping is rude? 
> 
> No la tuya te enseñan que jugar con los hombres blancos con armas de fuego le conseguirá matado? Nero, hablo en serio. Jax y Tig están locos y te matarán. Por favor, por favor, reconsiderar esto. - No, did yours ever teach you not to play with white men with guns who will get you killed? Nero, I’m serious. Jax and Tig are crazy and will kill you. Please, please don’t do this.
> 
> No me importa si estás conmigo o no. Sólo necesito para mantener la boca cerrada. - I don't care if you're with me or not. I just need you to keep your mouth shut.


	15. Still Sane

Gemma knows it’s not good to smoke during pregnancies, but her nerves are shot and for a moment, she doesn’t care. The kid was going to die anyways - she didn’t deserve to suffer from a high blood pressure while a child that was going to her abandon her lay snug in her womb. So as soon as Nero is worn out and asleep, she takes her pack of cigarettes - that he thought he’d hidden away, but he’s too predictable for that - and heads out to the backyard.

When Gemma had gotten pregnant with Clay the first time, a short time before he made her get an abortion, he’d insisted that they move to a house with a big backyard. All these years, her backyard had been a place for her family. For her sons - and grandsons - to play, for her boys to gather and smoke and laugh. But now it feels like a graveyard - a cemetery for joyous memories and happy endings.

She slides the door shut behind her and presses her back against it. The nicotine feels good in her lungs, and it’s what she needs after all the shit that happened today.

Gemma wonders if she’s ready to abandon Jax - to abandon the palace she’d created in Charming. It’d make sense for her to do so. Nero was going to betray her son, he’d told her as much while they’d fucked. He was going to do _something_ \- the details of which, she did not know - to put Jax away or get him killed. Either way - they’d have to leave afterwards. There was no way the Sons would let him live after that, and there was no way Nero was going to die and leave her alone with Lucius and the - potential - baby.

She takes a long pull from her cigarette and fights the tears the well up in her eyes.

 _Fuck_. She had to choose. Nero hadn’t blatantly said it - he hadn’t said very much, actually, just enough to run her nerves to hell’s half acre - but they both knew it. She had to choose between the man she was in love with and the man she raised. Her unborn child or her grown one. She hated them both for making her do that. For forcing her to choose between the two.

She couldn’t just abandon Jax - he was still her son, and her only reminder of the small tendrils of happiness that came with John Teller. She had raised him, nourished him, watched him flourish into the strapping young man that she knew today. He was a good man with a lot of flaws. He’d tried to turn the man she loved against her, he’d disowned her on more than one occasion, he’d let lies and manipulation taint his brain and become the man she never wanted him to be. And most importantly, he’d done the greatest betrayal possible more than once - he’d tried to expel her from the lives of those she held dearest. First Clay - back when he was young, an attempt to convince her not to marry the man - then his and Tara’s, the lives of her grandsons and finally… finally Nero.

And speaking of Nero. He’d very well told her he was planning to take her son down. Gemma loved the man - she loved him dearly, and she was loyal to the bone. It was in her blood to follow her old man to the grave - she’d done so twice almost, only stopping when she was sure they couldn’t be saved. If it had been _anyone_ else besides one of her boys, she would’ve been right by his side. Hell, she would’ve pulled the goddamned trigger herself. But her son… asking her to be on his side as he hurt her son - and possibly the entire Club - was crossing a line. These men had been in her life longer than he had, and she owed them more than she owed him. His spawn in her womb or not, she wasn’t going to kill - or imprison - her son for him. She needed to think about the long-term - her grandbabies, her daughter, her boys.

But, then, Gemma isn’t stupid. She knew that it wouldn’t come to this _one day_. There was no way Jax and Nero could ever _truly_ be allies - and therefore, no way she could ever have them both. Gemma knew from the day they met that despite everything, Jax’s loyalties would forever lay with JT and Clay - no matter how much he tried to fight it. She knew her son would want to push her back into Clay’s arms at any cost possible. She knew that Jax would never let Nero have his mother. The shooting had just fueled that, despite the possibility of a new little sibling maybe briefly deterring him.

The worst part is, she had no one to help her make this decision. Not Jax, not Nero, not Tara, not Clay, not Tig, not Venus… no one that she’d ever been able to confide in could be trusted with what she knows. Tara and Venus would just tell their respectful partners - both of which would just kill Nero - and Clay could use the information as leverage to get back into the Club and get rid of the threat to their marriage - Nero. Speaking of, he would just do something rash and immediate so that she wouldn’t be put through this emotional turmoil.

For the first time since she met John Teller - she is truly and utterly alone.

Behind her, the door slides open. She stumbles a little because she’d been leaning against it, and a pair of strong arms wrap around her waist. A familiar scent fills her nose and his hair tickles her ear as he rests in his chin on her shoulders.

“You know I don’t like you smoking,” he mutters, before pressing his lips against her jaw.

“I needed help thinking,” she replies. They sway for a little - the night chill having nothing against the warmth that radiates off of Nero and suddenly, she doesn’t feel so alone anymore. He’s here - no matter what she decides. If she chooses her son over him he’ll understand because she knows if given the choice, he’d pick Lucius. And if she chooses him over Nero…

“I’m sorry I told you that,” Nero sighs. “I shouldn’t… I shouldn’t put that stress on you. On the baby.”

Gemma opens her mouth to protest, but the feeling of Nero’s hand splayed against her stomach sends paralyzing chills up her spine. “Now, wait. You said you need to do this for yourself - pretending it’s not there. But mama… I need to know that it’s there for my sanity. Knowing that I come home to my children and you… it’s keeping me from doing anything crazy before you’re all safe. Please.”

Finally, Gemma turns in his arms. She tilts her head and there’s a broken expression on his face that tells her he needs this. The kid… he’d already gotten attached, and if they lost it, he’d be devastated. And she can tell that pretending it doesn’t exist around her is starting to take it’s toll as well. Despite her reservations, Gemma loves Nero more than she resents the kid.

“Okay. Okay, we accept that it’s there. But not that it’s going to live, baby. No false hope. Nothing but brutal reality from this point on,” she insists. If he notices that there’s more underneath that statement than what they say it is, he says nothing. Nero just nods and dips his head to brush his lips against hers. Not quite a kiss, but contact.

She turns back around so that her back is against his chest and they stand there in a moment, enjoying the bliss serenity of the night. The stars are high in the sky and twinkling bright, and somewhere on the lawn a cricket chirps. Heavy petrichor hangs in the air, the scent of the morning pour calming Nero’s nerves like cigarettes do for Gemma. Eventually Nero pulls away. He reaches for her hand as he does, a silent request for her to come with him. But she waves her cigarette and he nods. They reluctantly release each other, and Gemma watches Nero’s back retreat through the kitchen and towards the staircase.

She turns back to her backyard and the empty, lonely feeling returns.


	16. Eyes on Fire

The following morning, Gemma helps Nero prepare for his day. His crew began helping the Sons with their mission to hunt down those that hurt Gemma and tried to hurt Tara. She doesn’t plead with Nero to stay home or not to do anything crazy. She’s an old lady and she knows that sometimes, these things happen. She doesn’t ask him to stay safe either - she quickly found in the Club’s early gun running days that every time she asked them to be safe, they just wound up hurt - she simply helps him strap into his weapons. She cleans the guns tucked into his waistband and strapped to his ankle while he eats breakfast with Lucius, loads them while he helps his son change into his daily outfit.

She sharpens his knife while he showers and gets dressed, only satisfied when she runs her finger along the edge of his blade and blood trickles down the shiny silver. She’s wiping the knife down when he comes downstairs, hair still wet and eyes heavy.

She removes her finger from her mouth and hands him the knife handle-first. He tucks it into it’s holster on his hip. Gemma quietly goes about suiting him up - tucking his usual guns in their usual places, but also adding a few of her own secret antidotes.

Eventually she slips a necklace around his neck.

“What’s this?” Nero asks.

“Inside that locket is a capsule. It’s small, but it’s enough cyanide to kill a small elephant. Use it in sticky situations, when you’d rather be dead than endure whatever they have planned,” she instructs. She’d been wearing the necklace the night of her assault - she almost always wore it, it’d been something Piney’d given her for a birthday so the sentimental value was great in it as well - but she hadn’t been able to put it to use due to her hands being cuffed above her head. Now she’s more than a little grateful for that.

“Gemma…” he tries to say something, but something in her eyes stops him short. She wouldn’t have given this to him if it hadn’t been important to her that he had it on him. She doesn’t trust Jax to keep them safe - she doesn’t think he’s coming home tonight.

She doesn’t say it, but he reads it everything her hazel eyes speak for her.

“I love you,” she whispers, wrapping her arms around his neck. Nero places his own around her back and breathes in the vanilla and honey shampoo in her hair. He didn’t want to leave - he just wanted to hold her and let her know that she wouldn’t be alone.

Nero doesn’t say it back - they both know it. He simply presses his lips into her hair and embraces her for a moment.

Besides, there wasn’t any guarantee that they’d walk into danger today and he didn’t want the last thing he said to her be a goodbye. He knows they said no false hope - but he wants her to think that he’s coming home.

\--

Nero arrives at the Clubhouse alone, much to Tig’s disappointment. He’d wanted the man to bring Gemma so that he could talk to her. Undo any damage Nero may have done last night. And yeah, maybe he was worried about her safety. But only Nero and the strange man he’d been whispering to last night exit the car. His face falls visibly, and Venus - who’d come to see him off and help Tara look after the Clubhouse - notices what he’s staring at.

“She didn’t come, huh? That’s odd - Gemma never misses a lockdown.”

Tig curses loudly. _Of course._ She _should’ve_ been here because the Clubhouse was going on lockdown. The boys didn’t feel safe leaving the girls alone and so scattered while they hunted down the bastards that hurt them. Everything had been set in stone when Lyla received a threat written in blood on the mirror in her and Opie’s house. They were targeting the old ladies, and that had been when Jax ordered the lockdown. It had been last minute - happened that morning. Tig had barely had time to get Venus there - he’s not surprised that it’d slipped his mind. Although Gemma should’ve been everyone’s priority - she’d been the one that was harassed by these assholes, and she’d been the one that’d been _attacked_.

“ _Alex_ ,” Venus says, his silence beginning to worry her. There’s fear in her beautiful eyes and he winces. He hated it when she looked at him with fear, hated it when she was afraid. He wished he could give her constant security and safety - he didn’t want her to be afraid. “Alex, he doesn’t know, does he? And neither does she? Alex, he has a _son_! Gemma is pregnant! Anything could happen!”

“I know, baby, I know,” he muttered. He presses his lips against hers briefly and jogs over to Nero and his friend, and he can hear Venus’ heels clicking along behind him. Nero seems to be startled at Tig’s rapid approach, and the other man’s hand quickly reaches behind him.

“Nero, where’s Gemma?”

“She’s at the house, with Lucius. Why? What’s going on?” he asks. There’s panic creeping into his tone and Tig winces again. It was bad enough he’d already asked the man to betray his sister, but Nero would never forgive him if Gemma was hurt. He’d leave - and chances are, he’d take Venus with him.

Not that Tig is saying he isn’t scared for her too. He wouldn’t forgive himself if Gemma was hurt or killed either - he’d want Venus to leave his sorry ass behind for something… someone, better.

“We’re going on lockdown. There was a threat on the lives of the old ladies… and it just slipped my mind. I was worried about Venus,” he admits, and there’s guilt weighing heavy in his voice. He expects a lot of things, but he doesn’t expect Nero to punch him.

Tig stumbles back at the blow, mind numbing pain hitting his cheek. His primal urges tell him to fight back, but then he realizes that Nero used the hit as a distraction - because the sounds of tires squealing fill his ears.

It makes sense. Tig would’ve insisted that Nero stay while he goes to retrieve Gemma, and if he struggled, he would’ve had the other Club members subdue him. The time it takes Tig to recover from the shock of being hit is just enough time for him to escape before anyone says anything.

Tig turns to Venus, surprised she hasn’t rushed to his side and begun cooing over him. But her hands are planted firmly on her cocked hips and there’s an unsympathetic look in her eyes. _Shit_ , now he’s in the doghouse with her too?

“You deserved that hit. Now go get your sister. I’ll go let Jax and the others know what’s going so that you have back-up.” He stares at for a little bit, stunned at the way she takes control. Despite her nighttime job of being a dominatrix, Venus was actually quite submissive in the daytime. It’s why they worked together so easily.

But then he grabs her by the waist and gives her a passionate kiss.

“I love you.”

“I know you do. Now, _go_!”

\--

Back at the house, Nero has his gun in hand and is busting down doors. There’s a terror in his veins that he hadn’t felt since he learned of Gemma being shot. He can’t actually believe that he left her home alone - still recovering from a bullet wound, carrying his baby, and looking after his _son_. He should’ve brought her to the Clubhouse in the first place, should’ve made sure that she’d be with people that could look after her.

“Gemma! Gemma, where are you?!” he asks. He’s only been away from the house a total of fifteen minutes, but he can’t fight the panic welling in his chest. An intruder only needed ten to get in, kill his girl and child, and get out. They could be hurt. Or dead.

“The hallway closet, baby!” she calls back. Her voice sounds relatively normal - no signs of distress, or crying, or screaming - if not a bit distracted. Nero relaxes a bit and follows her voice but his grip on his gun doesn’t slacken though - he knows better than to trust an illusion.

“What’re you doing in the closet, baby? Where’s Lu-” Nero stops in his tracks when he sees her cross-legged on the floor of the hallway, a rag in her right hand and a pistol in the other. Her eyes are hardened with concentration, and she scrubs at the gun furiously, but there’s no signs of dishevelment or danger. He furrows his brow briefly - ready to ask where the danger is - but then she looks up and gives him a confused frown. There was no danger - except for the small shiny one resting in her left fist. “Where’s my son?”

“He’s upstairs, playing video games,” she says slowly, caution in her voice. The hand with the rag in it slows to a stop and she tilts her head. “What’s wrong, baby? Did something happen?”

“Clubhouse is on lockdown,” he exhales, remembering his original mission. He had to get them out of the house - right. “We gotta get you and Lucius there - out of harm’s way.”

Gemma snorts and rolls her eyes, goes back to calmly cleaning the gun.

“I know it’s on lockdown - why do you think I’m sitting in the middle of the floor and cleaning guns? For my health? Juice called sometime after you left - poor kid was panicking from hell and back, saying some shit went down with Opie and Lyla. I’m not going there - I don’t want to be in any confined spaces with Jackson right now.”

“This isn’t about you,” Nero warns, tucking his gun back into his waistband. “I need to know that my son and my girl are somewhere safe.”

“You can take Lucius to the Clubhouse - hell, I encourage you to take him. A group of burly bikers would do a better job protecting him than I will, honestly. _I’m_ just not going.”

Groaning in annoyance, Nero slams his hand against the wall of the hallway.

“Stop being so fucking selfish! Just come with us - let me at least have a peace of mind. God, is that so hard for you?” he roars. In turn, she rolls her eyes and picks up the next gun - setting the other into one of the empty hat boxes.

“You think I want to be in the same place as my boyfriend and my son and waiting for the other shoe to drop? I’m not going to be there when one of the men I love takes down the other. It’s happened way too many times in a lifetime, it’s not happening again,” she says. Her voice is bland - even a bit monotonous - but Nero knows her better. She’s scared and trying to bury it again.

“I’m not going to do anything,” he relents eventually, after a few too many missed beats. Gemma finally dares a glance at him, but there’s hatred in her eyes that he never thought he would see cast upon him. “I promise. I shouldn’t have told you anyways.”

“Don’t make promises you can’t keep,” she snaps, her voice the perfect epitome of ice. It hurts him to have her coolness directed at him - she’d been angry with him before, but never this angry. She looks so pissed that he’s not sure if he could ever make things right with her again after this. “Lucius is upstairs - I’ve already packed a bag and some stuff he could do while you’re there. Take him, Nero, but _I’m not going_.”

“ _Please_ , Gemma. I can’t stand the thought of leaving you behind and losing you,” he pleads, because that’s all he has left. If she wouldn’t come with him after this, then he was going to have to sling her over his shoulder and haul her ass down by force. He doesn’t care at this point - consent or not, he’s not going to leave her alone.

Gemma glares hard up at him from the floor, and tosses the pistol back into the hatbox with the rest of them.

"Just go, Nero, okay? I'm not talking about this right now," she sighs after staring at him for a few moments. "There are better things to discuss."

"You're right," he points out. "At the Clubhouse. Let's go."

"I said no," Gemma says calmly, her level-headed voice the complete opposite of the anger beginning to boil in her veins. "Please, just leave before we say some shit that we'll regret."

"Like what?" Nero snorts.

"Like I don't fucking want to be around you right now," she finally snaps. "Like I'm still fucking pissed with you for actually plotting to get my son either killed or jailed. Like I'm disgusted you would stoop as low as he would. Like I can't stand to look you in the fucking face."

Nero backpedals at that, hurt blending in with frustration on his face. He doesn't really know what to say to that - he hadn't expected her to just bury the hatchet, but he hadn't really expected the fury he was being slapped with at the moment.

"I'm sorry, Gemma. It was foolish, I know. I was just so afraid of losing you - I couldn't and still can't bear the thought."

“But you could bear the thought of me losing the only child I have left and shitting on my emotions,” she says sarcastically.

“He’s not your _only_ child, you know. I’m not justifying my intentions or some of the shit I told you - it was really fucked up of me to put you in a position like that - but I’m just telling you that he’s not your only kid. We’ve got Lucius and-”

“And _nothing_ , Nero. I’m getting an abortion! I’ve already made the _fucking_ appointment! Maybe that's why I want you to go so badly and leave me behind!” she finally shouts, so loudly that he’s sure the boys at the Clubhouse could hear it.

Chills run from the top of his scalp down to the bottoms of his feet when those words leave her throat, and suddenly there’s nothing but cold nothingness and blinding fury. The very thought - the very _idea_ \- leaves such a foul taste in his mouth and just puts his mind is such a terrible, dark place. How could she even conjure _up_ something like that? Especially after everything - after all the bullshit promises and vows, after all the fucking shit they’d been through, after all the fighting and making up. She was just going to up and throw away the _one_ shining light at the end of the tunnel for him - the one thing that made all of this shit with Jax and the Club and the _almost-losing-her_ just the slightest bit _bearable_. He knows she’d installed a rule of detachment on her end - that was fine by him, he could understand that everyone has different ways of coping and that just happened to be hers. But _he_ already loved the child inside of her, already loved everything about him.

And she was just going to take that away.

“What?” Gemma asks coldly, climbing to her feet. “You actually _thought_ I would fucking keep it?”

“You’re lying,” Nero hisses through clenched teeth. She begins advancing on him, a malicious smile on her lips and a dead look in her eyes. “You’re fucking lying.”

“No, I’m not! I don’t want this stupid fucking thing! You thought I meant that whole _‘let’s-see-how-it-goes’_ shit that I fed you? God, you’re such a fucking _idiot_!” she’s shouting again, and she’s so close to him. The heat of his rage radiates after the ice of her indifference and suddenly it’s all too much to handle.

Nero grabs her by her biceps and slams her into the hallway wall, every gentle intention in his mind gone. She struggles in his grip, fear flashing briefly in her eyes as she scratches and kicks at him.

They’re both shouting - it’s completely unintelligible, and neither of them are really thinking clearly. Gemma tries to tear away from him - her eyes darting occasionally to the hatbox of guns lying just a few feet away - but his grip on her arms tighten and he forcefully slams her against the wall again. She cries out a loud string of obscenities, but it’s a sensory overload that Nero can’t handle.

As soon as the not-quite-fight starts, it’s over. There’s a sudden blinding pain in the side of Nero’s face and he falls to the floor with the force of the hit. He barely has time to register what’s happening when strong arms wound around his and place them firmly behind his back. A few more hits land in different places on his body - a steel-toed boot connecting with his face more than once. Someone screams - demands whoever is hitting him to stop, and then a different voice screams ‘Papa!’ deafeningly loud. After what seems like forever - of the screaming, of the beating, of the pleading - it all stops and he’s allowed to slump over onto the wall.

Things go a bit blurry after that - his vision can only focus on certain things before blacking out. There’s a flurry of black leather and horrific looking reapers, heavy black cowboy boots that could only belong to one group of people. He briefly sees Gemma. She’s held tightly in the arms of his son - who’s still screaming with a mixed blend of sobbing - staring at him like she didn’t think he would actually lash out like he did.

The last thing he hears before he blacks out is, “That was payback for the punch, asshole.”


	17. Cruel World

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really didn't want it to end like this (I had some whole cool new plot) but I felt as though I desperately needed to finish at least one of these and BTB was the closest to completion. 
> 
> WARNING: GRAPHIC DEPICTIONS OF VIOLENCE AHEAD, BE SAFE

Clay is staggering lightly on his feet when they make it out to the main area of the Clubhouse. He looks almost as bad as Nero did - blood spilling from varying wounds on his face, purpling bruises littering the visible flesh on his body, a bloodied rag wrapped around a wound in his thigh. The Matriarch prided herself on getting past what she and Clay had, but the sight of him so beaten and broken up makes her heart skip an anxious beat. Behind her, Tara sends a glance to Venus and she ushers Lucius and the boys into one of the backrooms - chattering overzealously about a game they might be interested in.

“What’re you doin’ here?” Gemma croaks. Clay’s eyes dart to hers briefly before he turns to Jax and Tig.

“You all need to get out of here. _Now_ ,” he snarls. He limps when he advances on the two, but that doesn’t change any of the almost terrifying desperation and ferality in his expression.

“What? Why?” Jax asks.

“Look, I don’t have the time to explain the details. I just know that you need to evacuate. And hurry beca--”

He’s interrupted by thundering sound of automatic weapons and the shattering of glass. Several screams ring out into the atmosphere, and immediately Clay dives for Gemma. He covers her with his body as glass erupts around them and flimsily attempts so shield her from the reign of terror.

“What the fuck did you _do_?” Gemma snarls up at him, despite the warmth that blossoms in her chest at the sight of him still making her priority. The man’s eyes flit away from hers as another rain of bullets falls into the Clubhouse. They can hear Jax calling shots - and if they were to look to their left, they’d see that he was attempting to push Tara away from the mess as best as possible without getting shot.

“I lost myself,” he replies vaguely, swallowing hard afterwards. Just as she’s about to ask him what the hell _that means,_ the gunfire stops. It couldn’t have been going on for more than three minutes, and she can already tell. There’s the sound of boots crunching against glass and a dark, chilling laugh comes from outside the Clubhouse.

“Cla-a-rence,” a voice says, giddy and teasing. Clay grits his teeth, and Gemma’s nails dig into the cloth of his button-up shirt. “Come out, come out, wherever you are.”

“What did you _do_ , Clay?” she repeats with a hiss in her tone, her voice actually more desperate than anything. He avoids her gaze once more, choosing instead not to say anything. Around them, Sons scramble for their guns and to get the innocents out of the way, but Gemma can only see the man hovering above her in the moment.

“C’mon old man. We’d like to thank you for your _help_ ,” the other man says, chuckling darkly after popping the ‘p’ on the last word.

“I’ve done everything you asked,” Clay snaps, bowing his head. “Just let this go.”

Gemma frowns at that. _Done everything they’d asked?_ _Thank him for his help?_ Clay would never dare work with a group of people that he thought was gonna cause harm to his family - she doesn’t think he could even consider the idea. Of course… _unless…_

The anxious desperation leaves her body like someone flicked on a switch and Gemma’s need to rest is replaced by a need to _fight_. She kicks and punches at the man above her - effectively forcing him to roll off of her with a grunt - but in reality she just wants to _kill_ him. He’d been the one to coordinate Tara’s - and, in the end, _her_ \- shooting. He’d been the one to leave the mittens in her room. He’d been the one to give these _fuckers_ the information needed to target some of the Sons’ weak spots - the wives and children of the Club members. Because of him, they could’ve killed Lyla or Tara. Because of _him_ , she’d lost _one_ of her unborn children.

“You _bastard_!” Gemma screams, the rage slowly building up into fury as everything falls into place. It all makes so much sense now… she doesn’t know how she didn’t see it _before_ . Here she’d been, ready to forgive him under the guise that he’d just narrowly saved her life. And he’d been the _fucking_ mastermind behind the whole operation. “You’re dead to me, Clay! You hear me?! You’re _dead_!”

“Don’t say that, baby,” Clay insists. “I did this for you. For _us_. I’m keeping you safe.”

“I don’t want to be under your protection,” she growls. “I’d rather be _dead_.”

Clay spares a glance over his shoulder, in the direction of the true mastermind behind everything. He’s barely a man - barely at the peak of his life at the age of twenty-five. And here he was - holding all the playing cards in his hands. He’d promised that Gemma would never know about his assistance to the Red Horn Outlaw Crew - a stupid name, but he’s not really in the mood to argue with him - and she would love him for ‘saving’ their lives. He’d gone back on their agreement.

“There she is -- I’ve heard so many things about the lovely lady! Did your lovely Queen _finally_ figure it out?” the man taunts.

“Why are you doing this? We had a _deal_.”

“We still do have a deal. But I can’t help it, Mr. Morrow. I always love a little bit of drama. And Maury Povich doesn’t come on during the weekends,” the kid shrugs boredly.

“You’re one fucked up little kid, Vance,” Clay spits. The doors to the Clubhouse finally push open, and in almost an instant, the entirety of the Clubhouse finds themselves flooded with men wearing all black and ski masks. It doesn’t take much - the men are all properly prepared, and their guns certainly combat the small pistols that some of the Sons had managed to draw during the shootout.

“Well, whatever I am, I am a man of a my _word_. We did indeed have a deal - and I think it’s time I did some… exterminating. But first--” the man cuts off with a sly smirk and reaches forward for Clay - grabbing him by the wispy gray locks of hair. He unsheathes a dangerous looking knife and lodges it into the back of the man, grinning manically as he twists it.

Clay lets out a gurgled scream and the man brings a gun to the older man’s temple.

“Everyone drop your weapons or your old fucking man gets it!” Vance bellows. When none of the crouched members - all wielding their shiny guns, feeble against the heavy artillery these guys were packing - the sadistic bastard gives another twist.

“Let them kill him,” Tig exhales, his knuckles going white on the tight grip he has on his gun. “We kill two birds with one stone.”

“I can’t do that. He was a brother once upon a time. He still has the ink - blacked out or not. ‘Sides. Man’s like my dad,” Jax sighs. He knows in his truest hearts he'd never forgive himself for just letting the old man die. He wasn't a coward by any means. “Alright, brothers, you heard the man. Drop your weapons and put your hands up.”

The surrounding members of SAMCRO give Jax distasteful glares, but they comply with his orders and drop the weapons that they’d been using. Slowly the men start to emerge from behind the bar and booths, hands raised in defeat. It doesn’t take long for them all - including Clay - to be wrangled into a straight line of execution in front of the armed enemies.

“There! Now, for the best part. Sammy, grab the Missus for me.”

Gemma is so dizzy with the flurry of action that she barely recognizes being yanked to her feet. But one moment she’s on the cool hardwood floor of the Clubhouse with glass digging into her palms, and the next she’s standing with both her arms twisted behind her back. The position is painful, but pure adrenaline forces the pain to the back of her mind.

“Don’t you touch her!” Tig bellows, at the sight of his sister being manhandled. A broad shouldered black man with menacing tattoos on his face points the nozzle of his gun at the man’s forehead in an attempt to silence him, but Tig is undeterred - fury goading him on. “I’ll bite your fucking finger tips off if you hurt her!”

“We don’t intend to cause any harm to the lovely leading lady,” the man says, his voice the picture of feigned innocence. “We do however intend to cause harm to the pest growing inside of her. Deal’s a deal, right Clay?”

Clay looks away, wrenching his eyes shut at the idea of what’s to come. He had signed her up for this. He was going to be responsible for more than the death of a child.

“You don’t have to do that,” Jax exhales, the idea of what’s about to happen. The young man turns towards SAMCRO’s new President. “Okay? We can give you whatever you want, but you don’t have to--”

“Mmm… too late!” the brown haired man laughs, before turning with finesse and jamming the butt of his gun into Gemma’s stomach. She cries out in pain and almost keels over, but the grip one of his goons has from behind tightens. He delivers another swift hit to her stomach, chuckling darkly. This time, Gemma _is_ released from their grip, and it doesn’t take long for the flow of blood to spill through the faded denim of her ripped jeans. She collapses to the wood of the floor, breathing hard and trying to maintain consciousness. “Ooh! Bloodbath! Don’t you just love the sweet, sweet, sight of responsibility being… taken care of.”

“You’re sick!” Tig spits, lobbing a glob of spit towards Vance’s face. He’s rewarded with a pistol whip to the face that nearly has him staggering over.

“Look -- you got us. You don’t need to do this the hard way. Put down your gun and we’ll fight like men,” Chibs says slowly. Vance slowly lowers his weapon, seems to actually be considering it, but then he fires a shot at the Scotsman and gives a maniacal laugh. The bullet snags Chibs in the arm and he grunts, his other hand quickly coming down to press against the wound. He curses loudly in Gaelic, and spares a wary glance to Jax. But his leader’s eyes are focused on the other man.

“You honestly think I’m that stupid?” Vance asks. “No! I’m going to _kill_ you. I’m not going to _fight_ you. I just got my hands done today and I work really hard to keep this face… a _pretty_ face. Down on your knees boys, hands behind your head.”

The men all do as told, slowly coming to rest on their knees. Vance steps over Clay’s writhing form and strides over to Jax, pressing the nozzle of his gun against the man's forehead.

“Your parents made such an attractive kid,” he mutters, tracing the gun down the side of his face. He stops and returns the weapon to it’s original spot on his forehead. Abruptly however, he moves it away and shoots Quinn. Jax cries out as the large man’s hands come up to the wound in his throat before falling back on the floor. Tears involuntarily escape his eyes and trail down his cheeks.

Jax doesn’t need a doctor to tell him that their newest member is dead.

“One down, twelve to go,” Vance chuckles. He looks down at the line of men and his gun is aimed at Tig next. “He asked us to spare your life, y’know? Clay did. He just couldn’t bear the thought of his brother-in-law dying at the hands of his intentions. It’s pathe-”

His sentence trails off with a loud shot and he falls forward - blood spraying the SAMCRO men as he does. Jax catches the weight of his body and looks up. Nero stands there unsteadily, his smoking gun aimed towards where the man’s head had been. They don’t even have time to revel in the small victory, because they need to think fast -- before the shock wears off and it’s a goddamned massacre in the Clubhouse. Tig rushes to get Chibs and pull him out of the crossfire while the functioning members of SAMCRO take the upperhand in the shootout - scrambling for the discarded guns and shooting anything that didn’t have a reaper on it’s back.

The men are all poorly trained - it seems as though the only thing they had going for them was their big guns and their cocky attitudes - and once the shock factor is in play, it barely takes much of an effort to bring them down. Their novicity paired with the fury of the men makes it almost unfair. Of course, some of them manage to get a few bullets in before the playing field is completely dominated by the better trained Sons - but it’s as though they came in not expecting to fire, because they’re clumsy with the guns and more of them hurt themselves rather than their opponents. It’s obvious that these guys didn’t take time to think all of the possible outcomes from the attack on the Clubhouse through.

Their leader's body hasn’t been cold for more than a minute by the time the men are all on the floor, either dead, beaten or being held down by the members of SAMCRO.

Once the adrenaline begins to fade and the threat is eliminated, Jax’s eyes sweep the Clubhouse. It’s been utterly destroyed, and there seem to have been more than a few casualties in the ‘war’. One croweater is suffering a bullet wound to the leg, several of them are nowhere to be found, and at least five SAMCRO members have _some_ form of dangerous looking injury. But that’s not what - or rather, who - he’s looking for.

He finds her crouched behind the bar, nursing a cut to the face with a old dish rag. Lyla is beside her, pressing another towel to the bullet wound on Chibs’ arm.

“Tara,” he exhales, pulling her to her feet.

“You almost died!” she bellows, winding her arms around his neck. “You could’ve been--”

“It’s okay - I’m okay. What happened to you?”

“Flying glass nicked me in the face,” she explains, waving her hand dismissively. “I’ll live. I can’t believe we actually got out of this one unscathed.”

“I wouldn’t say that,” an exhausted voice says. They both peer over the bar, where Gemma is actually bleeding out. She’d been sat up into a chair, and her head lolls to the side as Nero’s fingers ghost over her skin - not quite touching, not quite ready to connect this with reality and understand that this was actually happening. “She’s fading in and out of consciousness. I think she’s gonna go into shock too -- god, there’s so much blood.”

Tara pulls away from Jax and crouches in front of Gemma, patting the woman’s face with more force than necessary.

“Jax!” someone snaps. The young man’s blue eyes tear away from his mother in exasperation. “We got three body counts. Quinn, Rat and Half-Sack are all KIA.”

When he spares a glance at the rest of his team, they’re in varying states of disarray. A few are ignoring flesh wounds due to the adrenaline still pumping through their veins and others sport looks of exhaustion and worry. But they’re all here, all ready to go to war for Jax and his family.

Quinn was dead. Rat was dead. Half-Sack was dead. His mother could be dying. How many men had to suffer before this was over? He needed to fix this problem… this problem that he let fester for too long. And he needed to do it _without_ harming anymore of his men.

Hard-eyed, Jax turns towards the direction of the men. They’d all been lined up similarly to the way the other crew members leader had the Sons lined up - on their knees, hands on their heads, executioners position. Chibs staggers to his feet to stand beside him, rests a comforting - bloody - hand on his shoulder. He’s gritting his teeth against the pain of his bullet wound, but he seems to be ready to see this through.

“Let’s end this, Jackie Boy.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> PSS: Think Gary Oldman's character from 'Leon: The Professional' for Vance.
> 
> PS: I do not like writing that shit, by the way. It's a plot device (a really sad, sad plot device, but one nonetheless) that will carry this story to it's end. I'm sorry if you cringed reading.


	18. Glory and Gore

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Last chapter before Epilogue. ;-;

The first thing Gemma does when she returns from the hospital is switch all the televisions in the house on. The only televisions are downstairs and in Lucius’ room, so she makes quick work of the job. Immediately, she feels less alone with the cacophony of noise flitting through her home. She won’t actually _be_ alone of course - Nero and Lucius are right behind her, inquisition in their eyes but a fronted joy on their lips for her sake and soon enough, half the club will be crashing at her place - but she needs the background noise to help her function properly.

Besides, sometimes a person isn’t quite alone and they feel alone. Gemma tells herself that’s wrong - she shouldn’t feel that way, because she knows she’s not _lonely_ per se but she’s confused on what her feelings are so she doesn’t fight too much against it.

Tara kept insisting that the raid had only lasted few moments, but those few moments were more than enough to fuck up some serious areas of her brain. Her emotions for one - she doesn’t know what she feels. One minute she wants to be a sniveling mess, the next she’s about as happy as someone can be in her situation. The only thing she’s ever certain about now is how fucked up she is after… _that_. She’d watched men die - some men that she loved and cherished and fed and practically fucking raised. And things… things _inside_ of her had been killed. More than two innocent lives - although, those lives are all her brain can ever focus on anymore.

Gemma collapses on the couch in front of the television and begins taking off her shoes, carefully unzipping the zipper of the latex boots before kicking them off with more force than necessary. She goes through the process of removing her jewelry mechanically, her eyes fixated on the television - which is playing a mundane movie about angels coming to Earth or some other stupid shit. Her fingers find the clasp for her necklace and easily maneuver the piece of jewelry off before going to the rings - too heavy on her fingers.

She knows what she has to do. She knows what awaits her in the garage, strung up and pleading for mercy. She also knows that she can’t deliver that mercy - she must be cool and calculated and oh-so-dead-inside when all she wants to do is scream and fall apart. And it has to be her to do it - a message. Not to anyone in particular - there _were_ no more threats of that sort. Her son and his Club had made sure anything _offensive_ to the Club was obliterated. No, this was a message that would be sent out across the nation. A message that no television network could ever completely cover.

“Gemma?” a voice asks. He’s right next to her, his hand resting on her knee and his body solid and warm besides her. But he sounds far away - a million miles away from her. She turns and stares at him with half-empty eyes. “You don’t have to do this.”

Gemma snorts and turns back to the shitty movie. Her eyes briefly catch some old man before she pushes off of the couch and pads up the stairs to their bedroom. He follows her - of course he does, he doesn’t trust her not to go off the handle and throw herself out their bedroom window.

She feels pathetic but not _that_ pathetic.

“Gemma!”

“ _What_?” she snaps, and the voice that leaves her lips is angrier than she wants it to be. Maybe that’s it. Maybe she’s not empty inside quite yet - maybe she’s just fucking pissed and too exhausted to do much about it. It would explain her stony silence, and why her sarcasm was thicker than usual. It would explain the way she grips things - just a little too stiffly, a little too _angrily_.

The more her mind ponders it, the more she seems to mold to it. Fury. Fury at what was taken from her. At what was being _asked_ of her. How people were expecting her to talk about her captivity like she’d been there for years and not even a whole twenty-four hours. Fury at doctors and psychiatrists and fucking family members that just insisted they knew what was better for her, insisted that she just needed to _talk_ . What Gemma _just needed_ was peace and quiet after a lifetime of chaos and the worst _fucking_ part was, the only way she could achieve that was one last go on the rollercoaster.

“Talk to me. I don’t pity you, Gemma, I lost them too!” he reminds testily. She doesn’t bother pointing out the two points - that he was right, and also that those kids were not what was on her mind at the moment. He _was_ right, though she loathe to admit. She may have carried them in her womb but they were his too. He probably loved them more than her, if she was being quite fair.

That doesn’t change the fact that it was her actions that killed them - not his.

And there it was. The _real_ truth. _She_ started all of this anarchy. She set everything in motion when she looked Clay in the eyes and pressed her lips against Nero’s. If she’d have just taken him back, gotten over their differences, made sure that he was accepted back in the club, just been a _good_ old lady…

There would have been nothing for those bastards to kill and they wouldn’t have had any reason to target her specifically.

Instead of voicing all of this, however. She turns towards the window and fumbles in her back pocket for her pack of cigarettes. Maybe a smoke would help her clear her head, and prepare her for what awaited her. She had about an hour until Tig came over - toting all of his tools and instruments. She needed her head screwed on straight - one last sacrifice for the Club, and they would ask no more of her.

Well, that was a lie. The Club _always_ wanted more.

“Don’t shut me out, baby, please,” he pleads from behind her. “I love you, you know I do. I’ve been there this entire time - let me be there for you now.”

“There are just some things love can’t fix,” she whispers hoarsely, before fishing her lighter out of her bra and bringing the cigarette to her lips. Suddenly his presence is very real behind her. His arms encircle her waist and his chin rests on her shoulder gently. She inhales the whiskey and cigarette smoke on his skin, hidden carefully underneath some of the cologne she likes for him to wear. She closes her eyes against the comfort and allows herself to lean into his embrace. “We’ll be okay, baby.”

“Will we?” he asks quietly, and she can hear the fear in his voice.

Gemma sighs and pulls herself together. There was always enough time to pity herself. Sometimes - even when she thinks she’s going through the worst possible shit - she just needs to be there for others.

And then one day, she’d let them be there for her.

“Yeah. We will.”

* * *

 Clay is dead and everything is officially over for their family. Gemma had been the one to kill him - it had to be done, the only way to send the message. They’d made sure to put his body where the Mayan, Niner and Chinese territory intersected and it hadn’t taken long for the word to fly across Charming. The King is Dead and long live his Successor. Jax felt guilty asking that task of his mother and even now, watching her so stoic and collected, the guilt rots at his stomach. After all she suffered through, she had to kill her husband to end it. It was unfair. It was… it was…

 _Life_ was fucking _unfair_.

Only three people attend his burial. There’s a huge turnout for the funeral - not one member from SAMCRO, but members from Charters across the Nation. The Canadian Charters, the Irish ones. It’s something real important when a member of the First Nine died, and despite the enemies that Clay collected over the years, he has friends to outweigh them. The Cemetery is chalked full of members, old ladies and heirs alike - all dressed from head to toe in black.

But only a trio of those people remain at his fresh tombstone - a trio that had stood out amongst the sea of grief.

Jax himself, dressed in all white. It’s the first time in his entire life that he’s actually worn all white. He feels as if it’s appropriate now however - standing over the headstone of the man that had cast so much darkness into his life. Had killed his father, nearly gotten his mother killed, and killed his siblings. He refused to wear the colors of grief for a man that he was not grieving - a final form of retaliation against Clay Morrow’s tyranny.

Gemma is there as well. She’s the only one wearing black. It’s a nice dress - more like a dress one would wear to a dinner date and not to a funeral. It comes down a little below her knees and covers up the assets that Clay so admired of her in life. It’s the first time Jax has seen his mother wear veil as well, but she does. Cast over her eyes to hide away from the world and detach herself from the situations.

And Tig. Tig doesn’t wear black or white. He wears a pair of ratty jeans - stained with oil and ripped at the knee - and faded blue button-up shirt. There are bags under his eyes - deep and heavy. The murder of Clay Morrow seems to have taken a bigger toll on him than it has his mother. Alexander Trager could front all he wanted but no matter what, he would love Clay until he exhaled his last breath. Clay had been his brother-in-law by law and his brother by life. He’d loved the man, looked to him. And the things he’d done…

They all stare at the shiny marble headstone - so eloquent and pristine, compared to the grime and grit of the man’s life. Gemma had made sure that Clay was buried with his military respects. Not only because it was fair - despite being the biggest prick in all of history, he still served and he still deserved his honor - but because it made her look more like a woman grieving the loss of her ex-husband and less like a murderous, vindictive bitch.

They’d made sure to point the murder at the remaining living members of the RHOC. A handful of black and brown. The Chinese and Aryan members had been obliterated completely. Something that Happy took care of, and something that gave him more smiles on his chest than Jax cared to count.

Jax clears his throat and both his mother and Uncle turn to him. “What happens now? To all of us?”

His voice is small and despite his desperate need to be strong for his family, it cracks on the last word. Gemma extends a hand to rub soothing circles on his back and Tig reaches over to squeeze his shoulder.

“Venus and I take Nero’s Uncle’s farm in Norco. I go Nomad, we make a life. It’s for the best - we were gonna settle down eventually anyways,” Tig breathes out after a moment of consolidation. “I’ll still see you around kid. You’ll always have Uncle Tiggy around.”

He says this with a bitter laugh because both he and Jax know they’ll never see each other again after today. Their family has been ripped apart, and as unfair as it is, he’ll be alone for the first time in his life. No mother, no father, no uncle, no brothers. No one to guide him except his kids and his wife. Tig wouldn’t dare make contact with anyone involved with SAMCRO afterwards - he was done grieving and putting the woman he loved in the ways of danger.

“Nero and I are taking Lucius up to Paris. We’re gonna see if we can try for another kid. If not… that’s fine. With Nero’s endgame, the money I’ve saved up over the years and Clay’s life insurance…” Gemma shrugs, but he can tell she’s trying to brush off how much this hurts her. “I think it’s time I expel the Sons of Anarchy from my life. But that doesn’t include you, Jackson, and you know that.”

Another lie. Jax doesn’t doubt that his mother would reach out to him for the first couple of years - she always took a long time to adjust when she went somewhere that wasn’t her home. But Jax - or Tara - would put distance between them and one day, she’d stop calling or writing letters or whatever she finds herself doing. It’s for the best anyways - if she and Nero can have another child, he wants it to have a fresh life. Not one tainted by its murderous brother and his raunchy past.

“And I…” Jax shakes his head. It’s all too strange. A year ago his mother had been fighting tooth and nail for him to sit at the head of that table. A year ago, she’d been ready to lay down her life for the very thing she’d spent it building. And now here she was. Moving away to fucking Europe with her Mexican boyfriend and a kid that wasn’t even hers. Leaving her real family behind in the dust.

“You,” Gemma says with a shaky breath. “You will turn your President’s patch into Chibs and you will run far, _far_ away from the Sons of Anarchy and every _fucking_ Charter you come across. I don’t care where you go. Montana’s probably best - only state without a charter. And baby, you and Tara raise my grandkids. This… this _shit_. I should’ve seen it earlier. I’m sorry. I’m sorry I couldn’t save you. That I couldn’t save him.”

Her eyes flit back down to Clay’s tombstone and she runs her fingers along the marble before pulling away like it’s burned her. “That I couldn’t save your father. But your sons… your sons will be saved.”

Tig nods and gives Jax’s shoulder another squeeze.

“This is the beginning of the end, isn’t it?” he asks hoarsely, and the tears prickle his eyes again. It certainly feels that way - like the end of some long, gruesome, twisted story. Chalked full with lies and secrets and frauds. Tig shakes his head, reaches down to give Clay’s tombstone two firm pats.

“No. This is the beginning of the rest of our lives.”


	19. Epilogue

**Five Years Following**

Gemma wakes up to the smell of freshly baked cookies and bad pop music filtering through the house. A smile falls upon her lips and she stretches her legs, feeling rejuvenated and more alive than she has in years. For a moment, a split hair of a second, she forgets what day it is. But then her eyes befall the calendar as she’s gathering her surroundings and her heart drops to the pit of her stomach. The day feels like eons ago, but it weighs heavy on her chest.

“Good evening, mama,” a warm voice says from behind her. “Fell asleep on the couch again.”

Gemma turns to look at him, but the airiness of his voice deceives the sorrow on his face. She doesn’t need to ask where Lucius is. Chances are, he’s out at a friends - sent away so that Nero and Gemma can have a day alone.

“They would’ve been four today,” she whispers. “Maddie and Jamie.”

Since she’d never gotten far enough along for them to find out what their genders were, Nero and Gemma had simply agreed that she’d had fraternal twins. She’d been the one to name them Madison and James. It had helped the grieving process a bit - giving them ages and knowing their due date. But sometimes her fingers ghosted the scars on her stomach - one on each side - and she wished that she didn’t just have to have names and due dates. She wished she had her children.

All five of them that she’d lost.

“Thomas. Emily. Reagan. Madison. James,” Gemma recites. Nero sets down two mugs of coffee and settles in next to her - pulling her body into his. “I’ve lost five kids in my lifetime.”

“If it makes you feel better, I lost two,” he says, his voice low. She laughs - bitter and dry and everything but humorous. But it’s still laughter and she’s grateful for his attempt to lighten the mood. “Could you imagine? Us running after two toddlers?”

“Yeah, I could. I could imagine Madison’s hair - it’d be like yours and Lucius’. Thick and straight. Jamie would have had hair like mine - softer, naturally wavy. They both would’ve had your eyes. And Jamie would’ve been more like me while Maddie would’ve been like you. Yeah. I can imagine them fighting over who watches _Dora the Explorer_ and arguing over who gets the red popsicle and who gets the blue.”

“You think about this too much,” Nero mutters into hair, before placing a kiss into the dark locks. The blonde streaks in her hair had long since begun to fade away - without her touching them up every week or so, they’d begun to fade and she’d eventually grown out of them. Her hair is mostly dark with a few streaks of grey every now and then. About time she embraced her age.

“How could I not?” Gemma replies drily. “We didn’t even get to know them. We won’t ever know her favorite color or his favorite food. Won’t ever know who they grow up to marry or what their kids are like. We won’t get to know any of that shit.”

“Still have Lucius, Gem,” he reminds gently, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. “We still have one child. And we still have our grandchildren - Abel and Tommy are growing up so fast and they love coming to Paris to see us. We lost our kids. And you lost three others. But we move past that. I think year four is the year we stop grieving Maddie and Jamie. Don’t you?”

"I’m sorry. I just… this day resurfaces so much bad shit. I fucking loathe this day,” she says. Nero can practically feel the poison dripping from her tone and hitting his skin like acid. He hated this day too, but for all the wrong reasons. He hated the day for the angry, grief-ridden woman it turned her into. “I wish I could scrub that entire year from my memory.”

Nero opens his mouth to reply, but suddenly the doorbell rings. They both exchange confused glances - Jax, Tara, Abel and Thomas only came to visit during the summer and Lucius wouldn’t be home until tomorrow afternoon. They didn’t really have any other friends or visitors that came around that often - too many people nosing around at the Reaper tattoo on Gemma’s calf or the various ink that littered Nero’s body.

Each of them retrieve their guns from their selected hiding spaces - Gemma’s from under the couch, Nero’s from the top shelf in the hallway closet - before heading to the door. They keep their arms tucked firmly behind their back as they inch closer to their front door and Gemma curses Lucius’ insistence that they get a door with a stained glass window.

In a split second, Nero has ripped the door open and they blink against the sudden sunlight that drowns the mostly dark house.

“Gem?” a familiar voice asks. Huskier than the last time she heard it and definitely more aged but…

“Tiggy!” Gemma exclaims. The grief that she’d been experiencing isn’t washed away completely - as soon as the shock of having her brother at her front door wears off, she’ll be back to her moping self - just pushed to the back burner for a moment as she embraces her older sibling.

Tig wraps his arms around Gemma carefully and buries his nose in his hair. It’d been four years since they’d seen each other, so he’d decided a trip to Paris was long overdue. Besides, Venus was always whining about how he had family that literally lived in the most beautiful city in the world yet they couldn’t go visit.

“Good to see you, _hermano_ ,” Nero grins, reaching around him to take the gun from Gemma’s fingers. “You chose a good time to come.”

“I do see that,” Venus pipes up from beside her new husband, her eyes glistening. “Excuse the tears - my hormones have been all over the place and this heartfelt reunion has sparked a tear or two.”

Gemma pulls away at that, frowning at her sister-in-law. She narrows her eyes in suspicion and gives Venus a once over. Nothing looks different - same curvy figure, same masculine facial features, same bouncy brown hair and shining green eyes. There’s just something… off. “Something different about you?”

“She’s homesick. Or rather, just babysick,” Tig scoffs, holding his sister at arms length. “His name is… and wait for this shit… Orville. She had some weird fucking obsession with the Wright brothers while the surrogate was pregnant. So now we have a son named _Orville_.”

“S-son?” Gemma stutters. “I have a nephew? Well where is he?”

“He’s not here,” her brother replies. “We left him with his cousins down in Oregon. The point of the trip was to see you and give her a rest from him for awhile. Orry is a bit of a… handful.”

Gemma laughs at this, looks at Nero with a renewed spark in his eyes. He feigns shock too, but the truth is, he’d known about little Orville Trager. The child was about one or two years old by this point and apparently, Tig’s genes had taken over because he had a mess of dark curls and a pair of ice blue eyes. He simply hadn’t told Gemma about him yet because every time he thought of it… it’d just seemed like the wrong time.

In fact, he’s not looking forward to the moment where she sits down and realizes _‘Oh shit, my brother’s wife is technically a man and even_ they _have a son’_. For now, however, he lets her bask in the new glory of having her brother and sister-in-law around, and being an aunt.

* * *

 

Night falls faster than expected. The rest of the evening is spent putting Tig and Venus up in the guest room and enjoying some of the new dishes Gemma had learned how to cook over the years. They catch up on everything - picking up where they left off, and Tig and Venus’ wedding up in Canada. The conversation travels from the farm to the Nomad charter - which Tig had been appointed some sort of President of - and then to SAMCRO. Things hitch there, but Venus delivers a swift summary of everything happening in Charming - Unser’s cancer getting worse and Chibs doing a fine job as SAMCRO president - before they move onto Tara.

Eventually, Gemma and Tig find themselves with some alone time. They head outside to the porch swing that overlooks the forest their house is placed in front of. Tactical reasons - so that if anything from their past does come back to haunt them, they’ll have somewhere safe for Lucius to get away too.

“Gem, I have to confess something,” Tig says, exhaling cigarette smoke. She hums in acknowledgement but says nothing, allowing him a chance to speak. Something that knots itself in the pit of her stomach worries she won’t like what she’s about to hear. “Do you remember Nate?”

Of course Gemma remembered Nate. Their little brother. Rose’s heart condition got to him before it got to her. Tig had the fortune of having Nathaniel as a father and not Rose as a mother, so he never really had to worry about that. But Gemma remembers sitting at the edge of his bed, gripping his hand because she was scared that that’d be her one day. Little Nate Madock felt like some sort of distant memory to the woman she was now. Hell, if Tig wasn’t there to attest to it, she’d be hundred percent sure that’s some made up story her brain conjured up to cover up whatever her real childhood was.

“What about him?” she asks.

“When he was in that coma, you ‘member what I told him to do?”

“Let go. So he didn’t have to deal with our parents shit anymore. What’s that have to do with anything?” Gemma’s getting irritated now. It was fine for Tiggy to bring up shit she wanted buried - they needed to discuss it eventually anyways. It wasn’t fine for him to be mystic and vague with every sentence that came out of his mouth.

“When you were in that coma, I told you to do the same thing. To just fucking _die_. Except I didn’t say it so that you’d get away from our shitty parents. I said it so that you’d get away from our shitty _life_. And for a long time, I still wished you would’ve died because I hated to see you suffer. I hated it with a passion. I just… I guess I’m just saying that I’m glad things worked out the way they did. I’m glad you didn’t die. I’m glad Orry has his crazy fierce aunt to look out for him,” he chokes out.

Gemma snorts out a half laugh and leans her head against her brothers bicep.

“Me too, Tiggy. Me too.”

* * *

 

When the moon is hanging high in the sky and all the nights dishes are done, Gemma and Nero both climb into bed. Gemma does her usual bit of tucking herself under his arm and tossing one leg over his, His arm wraps around his waist - it’ll be asleep in the morning, like always - and he positions them so that her head is directly over his heart.

“Still beating,” she whispers into the dark, the steady thumping of his heart soothing her frayed nerves.

“Yeah. Still beating. Will beat for a long time,” he replies. “It’s been a long day. Resurfaced a lot of shit we wanted to stay buried.”

Gemma exhales sharply before extending her hand in the dark to find his free one. When their fingers are safely laced together, she says, “Yeah well… time to _keep_ that shit buried. Jax and Tara and our grandkids are safe. I have a nephew - which, honestly, I’d never thought I’d see happen. Lucius is going to see past his teenage years. Things are good right now. It’s time we put our past in our past and look to the future.”

“You promised me we would be okay,” Nero says, giving her hand a light squeeze. “You came through for us.”

“Couldn’t have done it without you,” she mutters with ease. He plays boredly with her fingers, his thumb occasionally grazing over the cool ring that rests on her left hand. “I love you, Nero Padilla.”

“I love you too, Gemma Padilla.”

**Fin.**


End file.
